Nostalgia

Writing is comparable to coming home. Do you know what coming home feels like? It's familiar. It's comforting. It's the old and the new intertwined. It's love. It's belonging. I have had a busy heart in recent weeks. And home and belonging are just what I need tonight. So I invite you to sit next to me with your favorite mug in hand and your favorite scarf nestled just so. Sit here with me. And hear my heart. Sit here. And come home...

I am extremely nostalgic by nature. I root, and attach, and put out all the situational feelers. I put a large store by love, family, friendships, good food, hospitality, and, it must be said, pie. When I conjure up the holiday seasons to mind, I'm thinking all the Hallmark commercials you ever saw rolled into one. Reality is #oftenalmostnever like a commercial. No one rolls in at the perfect snowy, twinkling moment with the adorable kitten poised in a box holding an engagement ring while you wait with baited breath under the mistletoe, washed in a warm candlelight glow, while the strains of "The Way You Look Tonight" can be heard in the background. In fact. Rather. It looks like...a freezing rain storm that delayed plans, a mangy mutt that, in fact, ate the ring, no mistletoe (cuz does anyone put that up anymore? It's not 1873), the cold glow of the piercing, quite possibly blinding, latest model LED flashlight (since the power is out), and the crowning moment serenaded by "Enter Sandman" as the random playlist song of choice.


Yes. Nostalgia. Reality. Often I stumble between the two so casually, cautiously, catastrophically. I want all the dreams. I want all the bells and whistles. If time has taught me anything, I believe that it is summed up something like this, "Nothing will ever fully be as expected." You may find joy when you think you will find strife. You may find pain when you think you will find love. The hallways of life are not as picturesque as nostalgia would have us believe or as grey as reality would imply.

There is, perhaps, a place that marries the two in an equal union of sadness, beauty, and memory. Today I considered nostalgia and reality, and memory as always proved precious. As I have bumbled along the pathway, facing painful realities, nostalgia has been there. Bringing such treasured friends to ease the pain. Those imagined feelings and yearnings of belonging, acceptance and rootings. They have been extended to me time and again like an oasis for the soul. Friends, even now, that look directly into my blue eyes and see right through to places in my heart instead. These realities, dear readers, these are better than any nostalgia I can dream. I have shared many a seasonal meal surrounded by just these friends and my heart and eyes overflow with memories that cannot be contained.

Today, as you leave this spot by the fireplace, as you go with your mug and scarf, remember the treasure is what you make of the moments you have been given. I, of course, would always advise rooting and attaching to as many kindred spirits as you can find. But choose at least one. One person who can help you unite sometimes painful realities with joyous nostalgia. And when you are aged, when you can no longer make a logical word in Scrabble, I think the seasons of kindred spirits long past will come to mind. And your heart and eyes will not be able to contain the blessing.