I emailed my supervisor some months ago that I could see the endgame in sight. This was about my dissertation, but it could also be about the way one’s transitions in life often work—in retrospect. I started working on my dissertation so long ago, not in terms of time but simply my headspace, that writing the end of this project now seems like inhabiting a different world. In that world, I hadn’t lost a parent, the pandemic had not happened, and generally, I think I got a lot less exhausted. What exactly does one do about endings? Perhaps the more important question is, how do we even see endings when we are forever being oscillated between endings and beginnings, in the dense fog of adulthood?