There and Back Again

Reading: A Small Death In Lisbon
Listening: iTunes Party Shuffle
Pondering: It is one of the paradoxes of American literature that our writers are forever looking back with love and nostalgia at lives they couldn’t wait to leave. (Anatole Broyard)

Nostalgia, it is such a cruel feeling. The longing that comes with the feeling is a total downer, a party pooper. It creates a kind of ache in your heart that doesn’t quite kill you – no, it’s really just a mere blip in your heart rate – but it bothers you enough that you find yourself sitting in a corner, clutching your heart because if you didn’t it might burst right out of your mouth. And then the thought causing the longing disappears and you are fine again.

Lately, I’ve been nostalgic about many things. First it was over trivial things such as the anticipation of waiting and finally seeing Lord of the Rings: Return of the King, or seeing Keith Urban in concert, or riding the skunk train in Fort Bragg many years ago, or sitting on the floor, eating Chinese take-out at an inn in Disneyland. Then I got nostalgic thinking of Europe, all the fun and excitement my sister and I had as we strolled and discovered all these foreign countries. I long for the time when the whole family took a long drive to Tahoe, hoping to catch a view of melting snow from the passenger side of our rented vehicle. I long to say hello and catch up with old friends from college who are oceans away from me. Most of all, I’m nostalgic about the time when I was young. The whole family was younger then too. My brothers and sisters, oh I will always remember them as carefree and happy.

Late at night, when I try and force myself to sleep because I have an early wake up call is when all these longing for time past come back and haunt me. The night is late, the clock is ticking and I’m in bed, thinking of times that I will never be able to go back to. Such is life; there is always an ending to everything. Nothing you can do about the past but to long for it.