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Yes, Game of Thrones is over, and many of us are regretting the eight years we gave to the series. However, I suggest we embrace this hurt and find a rebound…quickly.
We find ourselves, this morning, at a familiar place. It seems plastic, borderline entitlement, as we gripe about our television show ending. Yet, we know one thing for sure, there will no more Game of Thrones, and Jesus, yes. Here again. Why does my heart, feel so bad? Where do I go from here? Am I ready to commit again, so soon? Yes, the final season may have been a disappointment, but we have earned that disappointment.
damn this is some stupid ass shit. I feel bad for the actors. I can’t believe I gave this show 8 years of my life. goddamn lmao
— na’ama נעמה ناعما (@derridalicious) May 20, 2019
While I don’t know the series, but I know the feeling. That gap, that hole where a largesse of purpose once was. For the last eight years, those who gamed the throne had something to look forward to, a small pointless thrill in a life of tepid obligation, of unfortunate daily grindage. At least, we had something. Something to fill the grey hours between work shifts naps and due bills. Even if it turned out to be not what we wanted, it was something, and now we’ll never possess that feeling again.
That feeling you’re feeling this morning is legitimate. Many of us got our feet wet with JK Rowling’s juggernaut, where it was less about the story and more about what the story meant to us, which came to represent a point in our life. It wasn’t so much Ron, Harry, et cetera, it was the everyday processes that circled around it. It was about reading it, but also about not reading it. The lining up for the books, it was waiting until the next instalment, it was chatting about what you wanted it to be. It was hope intertwined with escapism. As Marshall McLuhan (who totes would have been in Hufflepuff) famously mused, the message was less important than the medium you discovered it on.
I find myself prone to this entertainment ennui. As I want to do, I tend to wait until all episodes are available, and then I ensconce myself. I donate me to that universe. Thusly, I find myself an expert in this particular macro matter of heartbreak.
I’ve not done well. Ever since Breaking Bad left me (amazing series, disappointing final season), I’ve not moved on. Not properly.
I find myself perpetually not ready to love again. The end doesn’t matter, it was what it was. It was no-one’s fault, certainly not yours. But heed my words, as you certainly should. As the heartbroken teens of Tumblr oft opine, don’t be sad that it ended, be happy that it happened. One day you’ll look back, after it stops hurting, and you’ll remember the good times. What it used to mean to you, the reasons why you got involved. Yes, it’ll never feel the same way again, and no, you can’t start over, because you should never go back, but what you need, is something, someone new. That, or you can enter the grimy world of relationship denial. Your choice.
As McLuhan once said, “…all media exist to invest our lives with artificial perceptions and arbitrary values”, which can be transported directly to the legitimacy of Jon Snow’s claim to the throne. It matters, because it doesn’t matter. We make it our everything, and for a small tiny fraction of our life, we become it. Yes, it may never come again the same form, just know that Game of Thrones meant something, and realise that no-one can take that away from you.
Scars and all.