” … in Greek, nostalgia literally means the pain from an old wound. It’s a twinge in your heart, far more powerful than memory alone.” (Quote from Mad Men)
Call it a gift or a curse, but I have a very good memory, one that is reinforced by my emotional nature. Sometimes I wish I had more of the first and less of the latter, or less of both altogether. Sometimes it feels like I’m living in the past.
This is probably why I always loved poetry: it is an art of associations. As I sit here drinking a weak cup of coffee … suddenly it is much, much more than a coffee cup. It is a symbol of ritual, a communal object, a reminder of my dedication to friendship and compassion. Suddenly the memories are flooding my coffee, bittersweet and filled with melancholy.
I wish I could just look at it and see that it is nothing more than a kitschy ceramic mug. I need to adjust the lens through which I see the world — I am waaaay too hindsighted. If only I could take the things that have happened in the past and set them on fire, using combustible memories to propel me forward. If only.
I’m just speaking in abstractions and I hate that. First rule of writing, is to always be specific. The devil is in the details. But maybe later. Right now I just feel like ruminating.
