5 years ago my wife texted me from the animal shelter that we "must" go and meet Max, a dog that was part Australian Shepherd and Part Shiba inu. He was very sweet to me but had low energy. My wife had seen him the day before and he had more "pep in his step" but when I met him apparently he had caught kennel cough, and the night before had some large thunderstorms which must have kept him up all night.
Since some dogs aren't friendly towards men, when we found that he liked me we decided that we'd take him home. He didn't bark for a week as we kept watch over him while he was sick. When he started feeling better my wife called me excitedly to let me know that "Max found his Bark"
Since then Max has grown on me and there are times some nights when my heart aches looking at him and now years later his muzzle is going grey and even though he's right next to me I miss him already. So I'll move on over and give him a belly rub. Just the title of your piece made me think of that.
That's a lovely story, Mike. Pets move through our lives too quickly, don't they, and even knowing that, we choose to form those special bonds with them. I hope Max keeps his bark for some while to come.
Such a beautiful essay. I know that feeling and agree that anticipatory nostalgia doesn’t do it justice. It’s that feeling of breathlessness, of something so beautiful slipping through your fingers like silk or sand, and you know it is inevitable, that it’s time will end. A great reminder to cherish the moments.
Thank you Aria, for your very generous mention of my writing, and for your tender and thoughtful piece here. It was wonderful and I fully agree, I also love yielding to the beauty of a moment, which make today's "Now" richer and seem to form life-affirming foundations to fill tomorrow's last breathes.
Thank you, Jonathan. 'Now' is rich when we look around us. It's interesting that in the phycological approach of 'anticipatory nostalgia' it's assumed that the person experiencing the emotions isn't living in the moment, and at times while experiencing this feeling I've berated myself for not simply being 'happy'. But the more I've thought about it, the two are intrinsically linked, because only through complete immersion in the moment and the joy that comes with it can you awaken mono-no-aware. So I've come to appreciate it.
I think it's even possible to experience layers of emotional input where "the self" is partially in the moment and partially aware of being in the moment and partially thinking about making a coffee later when they get home, and none of these states last very long, some momentarily and some longer, but eventually "the self" reintroduces order and we go back to thinking of ourselves as an "I" again ;)
I think that the whole of human artistic endeavour is imbued with this notion to a greater or lesser degree, isn't it? Carpe diem – the corollary to seizing the day is the knowledge that the day will pass – and we will pass. If I look for example at Rodin's Burghers of Calais, I see men still living taking leave of their lives, each in their individual fashion; it has to be one of the most psychologically wrenching pieces of sculpture.
I'm quite glad that we don't have a simple term for this. I'm with Ned: 'Such is life.'
Lovely essay. I agree with you completely, "anticipatory nostalgia" doesn't cut it. I've had those moments in places, but also just moments, when the membrane between me and the universe or the holy is very thin and I am part of and glimpse something larger than my existence. I think I am content that there isn't a word for it . You writing has reminded me all that beauty is still out there.
Yes, anticipatory nostalgia is such a clinical term. I think you're on to something about it not needing a word. Sometimes the need for many words makes something more special.
5 years ago my wife texted me from the animal shelter that we "must" go and meet Max, a dog that was part Australian Shepherd and Part Shiba inu. He was very sweet to me but had low energy. My wife had seen him the day before and he had more "pep in his step" but when I met him apparently he had caught kennel cough, and the night before had some large thunderstorms which must have kept him up all night.
Since some dogs aren't friendly towards men, when we found that he liked me we decided that we'd take him home. He didn't bark for a week as we kept watch over him while he was sick. When he started feeling better my wife called me excitedly to let me know that "Max found his Bark"
Since then Max has grown on me and there are times some nights when my heart aches looking at him and now years later his muzzle is going grey and even though he's right next to me I miss him already. So I'll move on over and give him a belly rub. Just the title of your piece made me think of that.
That's a lovely story, Mike. Pets move through our lives too quickly, don't they, and even knowing that, we choose to form those special bonds with them. I hope Max keeps his bark for some while to come.
Joni Mitchell: "Don't it always seem to go/that you don't know what you got 'til it's gone."
Or thinking about it being gone :)
That's a great song, David. I think I might play some Joni Mitchell today.
Such a beautiful essay. I know that feeling and agree that anticipatory nostalgia doesn’t do it justice. It’s that feeling of breathlessness, of something so beautiful slipping through your fingers like silk or sand, and you know it is inevitable, that it’s time will end. A great reminder to cherish the moments.
Also, love the origins of bingo!
Beautiful words Meg, that's absolutely it.
Thank you Aria, for your very generous mention of my writing, and for your tender and thoughtful piece here. It was wonderful and I fully agree, I also love yielding to the beauty of a moment, which make today's "Now" richer and seem to form life-affirming foundations to fill tomorrow's last breathes.
Thank you, Jonathan. 'Now' is rich when we look around us. It's interesting that in the phycological approach of 'anticipatory nostalgia' it's assumed that the person experiencing the emotions isn't living in the moment, and at times while experiencing this feeling I've berated myself for not simply being 'happy'. But the more I've thought about it, the two are intrinsically linked, because only through complete immersion in the moment and the joy that comes with it can you awaken mono-no-aware. So I've come to appreciate it.
I completely agree again :)
I think it's even possible to experience layers of emotional input where "the self" is partially in the moment and partially aware of being in the moment and partially thinking about making a coffee later when they get home, and none of these states last very long, some momentarily and some longer, but eventually "the self" reintroduces order and we go back to thinking of ourselves as an "I" again ;)
You definitely convinced me of that theory by demonstrating it with coffee. Part of me is always thinking of coffee, or the absence thereof 😆
🤣
Great piece!
I think that the whole of human artistic endeavour is imbued with this notion to a greater or lesser degree, isn't it? Carpe diem – the corollary to seizing the day is the knowledge that the day will pass – and we will pass. If I look for example at Rodin's Burghers of Calais, I see men still living taking leave of their lives, each in their individual fashion; it has to be one of the most psychologically wrenching pieces of sculpture.
I'm quite glad that we don't have a simple term for this. I'm with Ned: 'Such is life.'
Thanks Steve. I just took a look at that sculpture. I'd not seen that one of Rodin's. It's very powerful. Carpe diem, indeed.
Lovely essay. I agree with you completely, "anticipatory nostalgia" doesn't cut it. I've had those moments in places, but also just moments, when the membrane between me and the universe or the holy is very thin and I am part of and glimpse something larger than my existence. I think I am content that there isn't a word for it . You writing has reminded me all that beauty is still out there.
Yes, anticipatory nostalgia is such a clinical term. I think you're on to something about it not needing a word. Sometimes the need for many words makes something more special.