The end of anything is not fun because there's a nostalgia to it

When Jessica Capshaw said, “The end of anything is not fun because there’s a nostalgia to it and everything else. Even the end of a bad relationship can feel so, so, so sad,” she spoke a truth that belongs not only to her, but to all humanity. Her words capture the ancient ache of impermanence—the bittersweet reality that even endings we desire carry the weight of memory. Whether it is the closing of a friendship, a career, or a love that has long since soured, something sacred within us mourns the passing of what once was. To feel sorrow at an ending is not weakness; it is the heart’s way of honoring the time and energy it once gave to something now gone.

In her reflection, there lies the wisdom of acceptance—that endings are not judged solely by their pain or joy, but by the tenderness with which we let them go. Even the end of a bad relationship, she says, can feel sad, because beneath the anger or exhaustion there lingers a ghost of love, of hope once alive. The ancients understood this deeply. The philosopher Heraclitus declared that “everything flows,” that life itself is constant transformation, and thus every beginning already contains its ending. Jessica’s words remind us that the sorrow we feel is not merely about loss—it is the recognition that we have changed, that a chapter of our being has closed forever.

The nostalgia she speaks of is a kind of sacred grief. It is the memory of laughter that once echoed, of hands once held, of dreams once shared, even if they later turned to dust. Nostalgia is not blind—it does not deny the pain—but it honors the beauty that existed before things fell apart. To feel nostalgia even for something painful is to recognize that no experience is wholly dark; that even in suffering, there were moments of light that once made us whole. The ancient poets of every culture wrote of this—the Persians in their laments for lost gardens, the Japanese in their haiku of falling blossoms, the Greeks in their hymns to love and loss. Each saw that endings, however sorrowful, are also mirrors that show us the depth of our capacity to feel.

Consider the story of Marcus Aurelius, the Roman emperor and Stoic philosopher. He lost friends, family, and power, yet he wrote in his Meditations not with bitterness but with grace. “All things,” he said, “are woven together and bound in sacred order.” He knew that to cling to what must end is to resist the natural flow of the cosmos. Yet he did not pretend that detachment meant the absence of pain. Like Jessica Capshaw, he understood that endings, even when accepted, are sad. But to acknowledge that sadness without letting it destroy us—that is the mark of strength.

The meaning of her quote lies in this paradox: endings hurt not because we are weak, but because we are alive. The very heart that aches with sadness is the same heart that once rejoiced with love. To feel the sorrow of endings is proof that we have lived with openness. Those who numb themselves to avoid pain also shut themselves off from beauty. To mourn is to honor the fullness of life—to say, “This mattered to me.” Even when something ends badly, even when anger or betrayal accompanies it, there is still grief for the version of ourselves that once believed, once hoped. That grief deserves compassion, not scorn.

From this truth arises a profound lesson for the living: do not rush through endings. Do not shame yourself for feeling sorrow even when logic tells you to move on. Instead, allow the sadness to teach you. Reflect on what was gained, what was learned, what part of you was shaped by the experience. For every ending carries within it a seed of rebirth. The pain that accompanies closure is the soil in which wisdom grows. To sit with grief without despair is to prepare the heart for new beginnings.

So, let this teaching be remembered: every ending is a sacred passage. Walk through it slowly. Mourn if you must, for even loss is a form of love. Do not despise nostalgia—it is the soul’s way of saying thank you for what once brought joy, even if it could not last. When Jessica Capshaw speaks of sadness at the end of even a bad relationship, she reminds us that nothing we give our hearts to leaves us unchanged. To love, to lose, to remember—this is the rhythm of all things. Learn to bless the end as you once blessed the beginning, and in doing so, you will carry peace through every turning of your life’s seasons.