Closure, informed by Mozart and Mahler

Recently, my wife and I were traveling abroad in Europe, with one of our stops being Salzburg, Austria. While the jury is out on our favorite destination, Salzburg made quite the case. The quaintness and class of Salzburg is the first thing you notice, with 18th century, European cityscapes fit for any picture book. One corridor after another takes you further into a labyrinth of charm, stumbling onto sleepy cafe’s and dignified art galleries with frequency. An espresso here, a glass of wine there — when you’re traveling, one doesn’t have a reason not to.

Salzburg is probably most famous for two things. The iconic movie Sound of Music and Mozart, as the latter was his birthplace and hometown. Like any good historical city who’s economy is partially propped up on tourism, they have found ways to capitalize on both things. It is also a hub for classically trained musicians, which certainly makes sense given its history. One can sit in a palatial venue, adorned with marble and gold, and listen to the same music that reverberated off those same walls centuries ago.

We found ourselves at the Schlosskonzerte Mirabell (a concert) at Mirabell Garden. It’s the place where they filmed the “Do-Re-Mi” scene from the Sound of Music and it looks about the same today. The small ensemble of world class musicians played a few pieces by Mozart, Hayden, Mendelssohn and Mahler. Even to an untrained ear like mine, it wasn’t hard to hear some of the contrasts between the composers, each contributing their own voice to the age-old ideas that inspire beautiful art. Mozart’s sound was cheery and flamboyant with his genius featured in the details. His music was glamorous, full of color, with notes that popped off the sheet music. But as I listened to Mozart, I felt a bit of discontentment. I wasn’t sure where one thing ended and the next began. I was impressed, but I wasn’t moved, and when we listen to beautiful music, that’s what we’re all looking for — to be moved. Granted, I have my preference and musical taste is largely subjective, but my hunch is that I wasn’t alone. Mozart moved into Mahler and that’s how they finished, and If Mozart was a summer shandy, then Mahler was a fine bourbon. His music didn’t pop, but waxed and waned slowly and deliberately. It was unapologetically sad. There were powerful crescendos that took you on a journey, yet I never felt lost in my listening. I always knew where I stood. Mahler’s music had resolve, and as the concert ended, I felt closure.

You might be wondering if this is going somewhere — and hopefully it is. And while i’d like to continue with my amateur concert review informed by zero musical training and two glasses of wine at the time I witnessed it, the whole experience got me to thinking about closure. Why did Mahler provide it and Mozart did not? What is it, how do we get it, and why do we need it so badly?

In essence, closure means that we know where we stand in our story as ‘something’ has come to an end. I think it is both a process and an occurrence, where certainty is never promised yet the future has become an ally. Closure is the metabolization of what has happened, with a confident orientation to what will come next. And while it never promises the absence of present pain or future troubles, it is accompanied by hope.

We often define closure as a feeling of completion, or having everything in its right place, and I suppose it can be that, but often times, closure isn’t that precise. It is possible that what we believe will bring us closure is actually just another fledging attempt at control, prolonging that which is unresolved. The glaring reality of closure is that before we get there, we often must wade through a mess, and any attempt to keep our clothes clean will keep us from experiencing what we desperately desire.

I was recently working with a client going through a divorce, as his marriage of 30 years was coming to an end for some very complicated and painful reasons. Divorce papers had been drawn up, agreements had been made, and all the formalities were a done deal. All that remained was to simply drop off the materials to his soon-to-be ex-wife. What was not surprising is that he couldn’t bring himself to do it. He would articulate that what he desperately wanted was closure, but the conditions were such that closure was actually impossible. He hadn’t yet entered into heartache, and in some ways, dropping off divorce papers would symbolically escort him through that door. What’s ironic is that he had been suffering for a long time. He was dissociated and disconnected because assessing the failed marriage required a deep dive into his own soul; an on-ramp to confront his feelings of rejection, betrayal, and hurt which like most everyone, he was reluctant to do. I don’t blame him. This played out in a sort of numbness, as he described it, and so the resolve that closure can bring is replaced with simply “moving on,” paid for by the counterfeit currency of self-medication. The process of closure looks far different.

It is a belief of mine that closure is generally characterized by four intimately connected elements which will usually be experienced non-linearly, and with no particular timeline. There are times where one step forward and two steps back will appear accurate, but take heart! You are doing a good thing. They are:

Honesty - we must survey the facts of what has just happened, and be honest about the true extent of their impact. Here, we are doing our best to make declarative statements whether we fully believe them or not. “The relationship was abusive.” “My addiction was damaging to myself and others.” “This is what I learned in college,” “This is why I was fired.” This is the discovery phase where we use our language as a springboard into the deeper waters, and there must be a current of integrity — that is, we should have our wellbeing in mind. Our courage in being honest will be honored.

Pain - closure, as a process, should bring with it grief. Whether its loss of a loved one, the severing of relationship, or the end of a season of life, the shedding of what once was will certainly be uncomfortable. Even gut-wrenching. We are so accustomed to running from any kind of emotional pain, and this is natural as our nervous system is hardwired to create safety and security, even in maladaptive ways. But by doing this, we are handicapping ourselves, as pain will not only build grit and resilience, but more importantly, unearth our deepest wants and desires, as it is tethered to a longing for what is good and true. Pain purifies us for what is next.

Joy - Dallas Willard explains that “joy is not a mere sensation of pleasure — it is a pervasive, constant, and unending sense of well-being.” One does not need the absence of heartache to experience joy. Paradoxically, one is more likely to experience joy when they’ve entered into heartache because joy is not circumstantial and will transcend our current predicament. The language of joy is not usually spoken in words, but rather laughter, tears and silence. Can we laugh, cry and reminisce about who or what we have lost or experienced — and in no particular order?

Hope - hope, very simply, is a rich anticipation of what comes next be it known or unknown. While we may not have our next steps carefully planned, when we have closure, we are free to dream about the future, knowing full well that even if it doesn’t go our way as we see it in our present state, we will be able to live with integrity and wholeness. Hope is not tethered to certainty or success, but rather the pursuit of purpose and meaning. Without hope, closure would not be what it is. It would be called something else. Perhaps simply ‘tolerance,’ which is despairing and cynical. And as we recoil further into ourselves instead of outward into the world, we are not free.

So, closure.

As crazy as it sounds, I appreciate the weather in the midwest. I guess I always know where I stand. The distinct seasons provide structure for death and new life, both of which are needed for ecosystems to flourish. The same can be said of human beings, though we aren’t privy to such beautiful structure. We get caught up in the whims of beginning and end, death and new life, and with that comes an invitation for our spirits to flourish with those painful transitions. Embrace the process of closure, and you will begin to experience it as an occurrence. We all have that thing where closure has been elusive. Honor your life and have the courage to be free. Start with honesty. What has happened? And if you need some inspiration, i’d recommend listening to Mahler.