Monday, August 14, 2017

Regret, Nostalgia, Present Purpose: before I talk about Crete, lets talk about talking about Crete

I’ve hidden from this blog for almost two weeks. I returned to the States almost a month ago. More than three months ago, I lost my job. For the better part of the last ten years (or maybe longer) I have paced the perimeter of a rectangular, American yard bounded in barb wire that stretches between the standard posts of job, belly, bed, and discontentment. Upon this wire and wood I dependably rub my life raw.


A couple of days ago, I reflected on my toxic engagement with my past, future, and present. From each point in time and space, experiences fall behind me, loom before me, and coincide with me. Past and future are easy (if dangerous): small, potent fictions I manufacture and abuse with simple thoughts and gestures, easy to destroy and in the creative destruction of which to be mutated or blown apart, but how do I engage the invisible and enormous present with its endless power and obscure intent? How do I grapple with an imperceptible, unavoidable proto-thing that my feet step in and upon and which also steps in and upon me? How do I speak this brand new language always being born in my ears and on my lips, read words that are written for the first time every time? How do I touch or let go of a thing in our mutual moment of immediacy and formlessness?


These challenges seem impossible for me to answer, or even to simplify. Perhaps part of the reason for the difficulty is that these challenges involve my body as well as my mind. It is no wonder that I find the experience of the present so disorienting, disempowering and terrifying.


Thus I respond by burying my face in the past. I read manuscripts illuminated by pressed red leaves and flickering, pierced butterflies. Some stories retell fond moments I wish I could savor again; more commonly I deface manuscripts of dread, abusing the dead parts of my life by incessantly rewriting the plot and characters. The future? Let's not even go there. If the past is any indicator of where I am headed, my thinking usually goes, then the future is a zone of outright terror.


This is an intense way to open a post whose title promises stories about Crete. I do not intend to depress or frustrate, and just so you are not disappointed know that I will ferry us to the island in my next post. First, to reach the shore, I have to walk you through my struggle.


Daily, now, in numerous ways, I wrestle with the fact that my trip in Europe is behind me. There is still so much I wish to think, feel, and write, but I am now doing so from a regrettable over-the-shoulder perspective.


Remaining aware of, invested in and unafraid of the present has often been very hard for me. One way my European trip transformed me was the concerted effort I undertook to stay in the present, mentally and bodily. I am not done relishing in this, observing it, processing it, but I face the growing conundrum that any time I spend “with Europe” is time in which my attention and energies are not invested in where I am, and what I am doing, right now. Oh, the irony that my victory runs the risk of becoming a new temptation to fail!


If this has all been a bit too much for you, I want to encapsulate my preceding thoughts so that they are not, I hope, lost on you:


Thesis: Regret is broken nostalgia; nostalgia is broken present purpose.


  1. It occurs to me that time I spend obsessing over “bad” events from my past may be a twisted sort of wistfulness. I long to be in these moments again, and for them to unfold differently so that they do not end badly. Thus, regret is broken nostalgia.
  2. Nostalgia is slightly better. I am superficially rewarding myself by remembering the past in a positive light. Nevertheless, the fact remains that my longing robs energy and attention from the present.
  3. The dilemma, the challenge, in cases 1 and 2 is that the past appears to be superior to anything the present can offer, however that might be measured (amount of meaning, satisfaction of desires, perceived power or security). This attitude presumes, and reinforces, passivity. Present purpose demands courage, even carelessness, focus and action. Present purpose should draw my attention like a magnet. Here is where I literally, physically am; here is where my awareness and will ought to be. When I resort to the past, even "positively," I distort what my life should be. Thus, nostalgia is broken present purpose.


The question that faces me is not only what the hell I should be doing now?! but how can I incorporate my revelatory experiences in Europe so that they do not fall like withered seeds into my dusty past? How, instead, can I help them to accompany me, to graft into my green and growing limbs and sprout in the present?

Thank you for coming along for another existential episode. My next post, which I hope to post tomorrow (I question the value of stating a schedule, since I expect at this point that most people are visiting this blog only occasionally, just as I am, and will probably see both posts at the same time) will focus on my adventures in Crete.

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