It’s currently 5:55 p.m. on New Years Eve and I’m sitting here feeling nostalgic as I write this. I know that nostalgia is often related to feelings of depression, and I’m only using the world nostalgia because it was the closest word I could find to describe this emotion that has been lingering in my body all through December. But in this moment, it feels as though there may be a better word to describe what’s taking place. Because while I may have a wistful, sentimental, affection for the past; simultaneously, I am feeling deep gratitude for the way my memories from the past are informing my present and my vision for the future.
I was preparing a ‘How To Guide’ to send for the first newsletter of 2023 but it felt right to spend a little more time on it. I’ll have it ready to publish by next week.
My intuition told me to (mostly) stream of consciousness this one. So here are some raw thoughts to start the new year:
I just finished playing Tekken for an hour with someone who has been my partner across eight years now. We’re not currently “together,” but we’re still romantic. As of now, more focused on prioritizing ourselves and redefining what “love” really means to us rather than climbing the traditional relationship escalator. I don’t usually share in depth information about our relationship with friends or family because—more often than not—people tend to become overly curious to a point that I don’t care to entertain, and sometimes, with that curiosity also comes a lot of judgment. But this newsletter feels like a special place for me. I plan to elaborate more on our relationship during this new year—to share more of my insights and experiences around what I’ve learned about love through our unique bond. I consider our connection to be one of my deepest and most important friendships. And I believe you all might find some value in the stories I have to share.
Usually, on a day like New Years Eve, I’d be stressed about planning out my entire year. Goal setting. Vision boarding. Anxious about making sure I ended 2022 with a special ritual of some sort. But not this year.
This year, I’ve invited more ease, rest and play. Enjoying the sound of rain and the fresh, cold, misty air coming through the screen door. Hearing the heavy breathing of two labrador dogs, excited to consume their treats. Observing myself as I tone down my habitual, yet dissolving need to write the perfect end/beginning of the year newsletter. And coming down from the playful and childlike competitive spirit I just had while the Playstation remote was in my hand and I was gloating over my 10+ consecutive wins.
Tekken reminds me of being an 11 year old and playing video games with my older cousin back in my grandmother’s house. An age when I would shoot hoops in the backyard, watch TRL videos and Nickelodeon reruns, and listen to Christina Aguilera’s “Come On Over Baby” on repeat. I watched a few episodes of Hey Arnold! and Rugrats on Hulu the other day and my mind started to do cartwheels. Where did the time go?
On Christmas Eve, I watched as my older cousin’s eight-year-old little girl danced for hours with what seemed like infinite energy. I shook my head in disbelief that my 16-year-old cousin was talking to me about his love life. I witnessed the generation right after mine take the place of shooting pool in the backyard of my aunt’s house, where my cousins and I used to hang out during family holiday parties.
I sent my childhood best friend a video of the younger and newly formed gang together, followed by the text “They are us 10 years ago.” She responded, “Omg. Legit Us. So Crazy.”
I love the awareness and connection I feel to how fast time can move and the way in which each era of our lives comes with different lessons and experiences. The thing about nostalgia is that sometimes it can trick us into believing that the past was better. The comparison is what leads to depression. We crave the past because in our mind it was more “simple” to be a child. To be free from the burden of responsibility and pressures of the world. It’s true that ignorance can be bliss. But it’s also true that with time, comes wisdom. And for me, while wisdom comes with the cost of some painful lessons, it’s also more powerful. More inspiring. More useful.
bell hooks once said, “Awakenings are heartbreaking.” It takes a lot of courage to see the world for what it really is—not just through some rose colored glasses. We cannot heal what we don’t acknowledge, and I absolutely would never wish to stay an ignorant child forever, because where’s the beauty in that?
Sure, a huge part of me misses being 2, 8, 11, 17, 25. And I also love being 32. I love knowing what I know now because of everything I have been through. I love knowing what I am able to endure and what’s available on the other side of that endurance. I love knowing what I am worthy of, what I’m capable of cultivating, and what needs more healing.
I almost didn’t attend any family gatherings this year because I was feeling too anxious and overwhelmed to socialize. I spent almost an entire year living at home with my parents and I wanted to consider that as enough—hand me my trophy and let’s call it a year. No more surrounding myself with people who have a high chance of pushing my buttons and testing my healing work, I thought. But every time I continue to show up to the places that a part of me usually wants to resist, a level of transformation always takes place. Even if it may not seem like it at first. The more I allow everyone I cross paths with to play the role of my teacher, the bigger my heart expands, and the deeper I sink into the knowing that—no matter how much the system we live under continues to work at dividing us—we are all divinely and intrinsically connected.
During that Christmas Eve, my cousin’s eight-year-old daughter served as a reminder of how important play is for the soul. She made me miss being that age again—wild, care-free, innocent, endlessly energetic—but only momentarily. Just enough to remind me to return to that place that still exists inside of me from time to time.
In contrast, the beautiful wrinkles and slower pace of my elders served as a reminder of how aging is unstoppable, how the people we love will eventually go, and that the temporariness of our human life here on earth is actually a gift.
It was a nostalgic December. And I mean that in the best way.
In an article titled “The Etymology of Nostalgia,” written by Adrienne Matei, nostalgia is described as a term that “lacks nuanced synonyms for its various types.” After explaining this, Matei gifts us with a list of words from other languages that provide us with their own “untranslatable, ineffable versions of nostalgia.” The phrase that hit home for me was Mono no aware.
Below is Matei’s words from the article copy and pasted:
Mono no aware—Japanese
Classical Japanese philosophy celebrates the impermanence of the world—a mindset that is meant to incentivize seizing the moment rather than our short lives being a cause of despair. Mono no aware is commonly evoked in relation to Japan’s traditional love of cherry blossoms, which are valued for their ephemerality—they are considered so beautiful partly because they are so fleeting. In this way, it almost reflects the ability to be nostalgic while in the present—to long for things that will soon be in the past, but while they’re still here.
While the end and beginning of the year continue to be significant markers—measures of how far we have come and how far we still have yet to go, let us not burden ourselves with the pressure of setting goals and moving so quickly into action that we may not be able to sustain. Let us take a moment to feel into Mono no aware. Every second does not need to be about improvement, productivity and results. Impermanence should never make us rush, but rather, it should inspire us to be more intentional. If you could connect to the nostalgic emotion of how every moment is fleeting, how differently would you move through this life?
I began writing this on New Years Eve and now it is January. And I miss December already. But it is the missing of December that inspires me to fall in love and be present with January. Because sooner than I can process, I know that, like cherry blossoms, January will be gone. Sooner than we know it, we, in our human form, will be gone. So here’s to celebrating every single second as much as we possibly can, while we still can.
Happy 2023, as always, thank you for being here and growing with me. I love you.
Val