I am nostalgic to a fault, perhaps because of the way I grew up—always moving, always leaving, always idealizing the place I used to be before I left it—or perhaps because of something else entirely, a rogue strand of DNA that got mixed in at the last minute. I miss people before I’ve left them. I reminisce about things ten minutes after they’ve happened. I look back on times that were happy and they make me happy but they make me sad too, and sometimes there is just no way to separate the happy from the sad, and it’s because you can’t go backwards, I think, because there’s no way to press the repeat button. Things happen and then they’re over. People are here and then they’re gone. We keep going forward because we have to, and the past recedes in the rearview mirror behind us, and it gets smaller and smaller and smaller.
You can’t go home again, they say, and it’s true, you can’t: you can’t go back in time to a dusky summer evening in 1994 when all the world seemed alive and new. You can’t go back with hard-won knowledge and hard-earned skills, and you can’t do it over, even if you swear you wouldn’t do it any differently at all. You can’t go backwards, and so you have to go forwards. But there’s nothing wrong with looking over your shoulder every once in a while.
Nothing But Bonfires is one of my very favorite blogs. Holly Burns, the author, is both British and
witty, so really how could it not be a favorite? And while most of her posts do crack me up (like this one about her French cat [be sure to read past the first picture])
, she is also talented in the Sentimental Sans Sap
category (like this one and, of course, the one quoted above)
Anyone else nostalgic to a fault?