My propensity for nostalgia hits full swing in Autumn. October in particular seems to activate a melancholic side; the season’s fragile cusp between warmth and chill, between light and dark. I am moodier. I am reminded of endings.
Then I give myself a good swift kick, and remember that for every ending, there is a beginning.
Which way do you look?
As I grow older, looking back becomes more of a habit than looking forward. It’s logical. A considerable amount of life is behind me though hopefully, a great deal remains. Yet headed into the holidays, I struggle with sadness. Millions of us do so, in part the seasonal change. What else? Our lives don’t resemble the picture-perfect scenes we once imagined.
This time of year I also honor anniversaries of loss. Endings are inevitable; life is full of goodbyes. Frequently they mark us more than the abundance of hellos, especially those that come painfully or prematurely. Other goodbyes are the natural course of things, including letting go of a younger self. Oh, it doesn’t happen all at once. It arrives like a stammer. Often, with recompense: patience, wisdom, humor, self-knowledge.
But I find myself looking back more than looking forward. Reliving. Second guessing. Examining.
Not quite an empty nest?
This weekend I came across a small number of photographs. They were eight years old, tucked in a stack of books, and tumbling out, there we were – my boys, still round-faced and giggly, and me – looking so much more vibrant and together. Those snapshots came as a bit of a shock. I was jolted back to another life, a version of myself filled with conviction that my future would unfold in a certain way. A certain way that never came to pass.
I was I struck by our physical changes of course. And by how much I have forgotten. The years are a blur.
While living the “everything in between” I had no time to create a future I wanted to invent; I was hanging on by my fingernails in a constant state of whirlwind.
Looking back, I don’t regret my choices. I focused on my mothering job, and did it reasonably well. My sons are pursuing their dreams. Together, we created our own narrative – a past and a future.
My dreams? Of necessity, I set most aside, like many parents. And still, I knew unexpected adventures and accomplishments. But I’m having trouble recognizing how “there” and “here” are connected. Perhaps that doesn’t matter.
Looking forward
Do you compare yourself and your life to some image in your head? To what you see in films? To the life you imagine your neighbors lead, or your friends?
As much as I look back, I’m convinced it’s my ability to look ahead that has fueled the machinery of this household. And that includes letting go – slowly – of the way I thought it should play out.
- This morning I can look forward to a short walk if the sunlight holds.
- This afternoon, there will be more writing.
- This evening, I’m looking forward to Mad Men’s Season 4 finale.
- I’m looking forward to my elder son’s visit at Thanksgiving break.
- I’m looking forward to my younger son’s pre-college chaos successfully behind him. Behind us.
I’d like to believe I’ll have a social life again. That would be something to look forward to! Wherever that may be, when the crazy juggle of single parenting and making a buck becomes a lighter load.
And so I remind myself: Endings mean beginnings. I must fight the seasonal mood swing, the sting of loss that hits at the holidays, the tendency to second guess in favor of visualizing second chances.
Perhaps reflecting on the woman I saw in the photographs isn’t helpful. Perhaps it is. I know her determination. I know her capacity for reinvention.
I think it’s all part of the process. You have to appreciate what’s been to move forward.
This really resonated with me: “While living the ‘everything in between’ I had no time to create a future I wanted to invent; I was hanging on by my fingernails in a constant state of whirlwind.”
I look forward to the end of the whirlwind, but I don’t know who I’ll be when it ceases. I suppose that’s when the here from there will really strike me.
This post is one of the reasons I love good blogs. You have eloquently and intelligently nailed the stuff swirling around in my brain these last few weeks. I have no response other than to say, “I hear ya sister and I’m right there with ya”. And thank you.
Have a happy Mad Men night!
Thank you, Susan. (55 minutes to go until Mad Men!) 🙂
I think I realized a really long time ago that life is full of speed bumps and detours and rarely does it go the way you expect it to. Or hope that it will. But it moves on and when you least expect it it finally goes in a good direction and suddenly there is satisfaction. And no more feeling the endings, but only the goodness.
Speed bumps and detours. That’s a good way to put it, Carol.
This is beautiful, Wolf.
Thank you, Amber.
I try to look neither back or forward but try to stay in the present moment- a very difficult task indeed! Btw- are you watching The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills?? 🙂
Ah… a woman after my own heart.. Eclectic tastes, n’est-ce pas? I did watch the first episode. I’m afraid it left the same taste in my mouth as Real Housewives of Atlanta, for very different reasons. Or maybe not so different. But I may try another episode and see how it sits. Did you watch? Your thoughts?
Ah, that conundrum – do we look at what can be or muse over what has been? I think by doing either we miss the now – not the in between but the right now. I don’t want to miss a minute of now, even though I do wish away some of now by wanting my son to be out of high school.
I love reading your words!
I get melancholy, too, feeling as though September begets the real New Year. It’s hard NOT to mark the passing of summer as a milestone. Especially here in New England, where I feel we all live from summer to summer, always looking forward to brighter, sunnier, vacation-filled days.
That said, I’ve started slowing down. And letting go. I don’t think I ever had a really strong vision for what my life would be like, but there are some things that certainly surprise me. The concept of each ending bringing with it a new beginning has definitely settled in my skin, and I get less anxious as things slip and shift and a new me emerges, a new life, a new plan…
There is something about fall that brings that mood to many – the ending of the long days and the summer skies… and the beginning of longer darkened days with a chill to the air and potential snow and ice. There are times when I think it fortunate that an unplanned pregnancy changed my dreams in such a way that I am pretty open to whatever happens next having experienced the drastic change in the road as a result of the choice to fully parent. The difficulty is now that times are changing – is there room for me to dream? And how to dream again?
Yes, Fall does have a unique kind of melancholy, doesn’t it? As much as I love the changing of seasons, I am sad to see each one end.
At this point in my life, I guess I feel lucky enough to still be looking ahead. To still be thinking about the life I want and how to get there. (This is one of the biggest rifts in conversation with my father-in-law: he’s always talking in the past about how his life was, sad and worried about the future. And I can only hope for the best in the future, because god-willing I have a lot of it ahead of me.) But I fear that shift when I suddenly realize that it’s too late, that I was so busy planning the life I wanted, I didn’t appreciate the life I had. It’s a delicate balance – planning for the future is valuable, but only to a point.
This is lovely, Eva: “I fear that shift when I suddenly realize that it’s too late, that I was so busy planning the life I wanted, I didn’t appreciate the life I had. It’s a delicate balance – planning for the future is valuable, but only to a point.” Wise words. Some of us really struggle with this.
The fall is like that for me too, I think because for so long fall meant beginnings. You know, school and all that. It seems more like a period of reflection, a stirring of the soul. It’s a provocative season.
I compare myself often to so many. I try so hard to, but I do it. It’s second nature. And I look back already, at just 33, and have regrets. I don’t think we can avoid it. It’s impossible to live all the lives we once thought we could.
Christine – of course! Autumn is the time we used to head back to school, with all the excitement of new friends, new adventures, new studies (and new clothes). That slipped my mind. Surely some of the nostalgia stems from that. You’re so right.
Your words hit close to home. I appreciate what you’ve written about… the endings, the beginnings, the in-between, the sting of the holidays. How ironic is it that I finally feel “settled” into my role as mom just as my chickadees are leaving and/or about to leave the nest? This whole time, these two brilliant girls have overwhelmed me. I often felt as though I was hanging on by my fingertips. I have a bracelet made out of rock-climbing rope that I wear when I feel especially stressed. How on earth was I ever worthy of the task of launching two smart, snarky, beautiful girls into this world? I still shake my head, even as I marvel at the amazing women they have become.
Sometimes looking at those little joys helps a lot when the bigger joys seem out of reach. Fall is tough, those looming short days and long nights can be pretty depressing. Hang in there!
Beautiful BLW. I am having a hard time embracing endings as beginnings (at least at this point in my life). Hope some day I can adopt that point of view.