It is an experience that most people have felt but do not know how to put into words. It is that thing that happens perhaps once, maybe twice, maybe three or four times in a person’s life. Maybe it’s the birth of a child, the moment your marriage proposal unfolds, your first kiss, or the first time you felt someone else’s heartbeat against your cheek. For most, it’s early on. For many, it’s a point of regret. For all, it’s a threshold that, once passed, no longer retains the meaning it once had.
But these once monumental experiences lose their power to enchant quickly. A kiss once meant something, now it does not. To have your hand held by someone else once meant something, now it does not. To hear, “I love you.” once meant something, now it does not. Just like a meaningful picture hanging in your living room will fade into the wallpaper after you walk by it enough, indulging in the experience that once brought you so much excitement over and over will leave it a meaningless crease in the wallpaper of your life. Another kiss will never mean what your first kiss meant. Hearing your partner say, “I love you.” will never hold the meaning it did the first time you heard it. No number of times you hear those three words uttered will ever hold as much weight as they did the first time you heard them.
One day, often out of the blue, you will see something that reminds you of that feeling. It is that nerve-wracking, sickening, lonely yet hopeful sensation. It is not something overt, its meaning does not come from itself. It is a call. It is a call back to something that once was but is no more. It’s a call made through posture, lighting, a soft smile, a metaphor, a moment of silence in a song, or the aroma of a long-passed era. The call is answered from within. The picture hanging on your wall that you had forgotten about suddenly explodes from its open camouflage. Perhaps it is lyric you hear that carries a perspective on life you once knew, a painting or a photo you see that echoes a moment frozen in your mind, a memory that boils up late at night that you tried to repress, even a scent reminiscent of a significant place or person; anything that brings you into that fantasy world and draws those forbidden memories back into existence. It wells within you, begging for a tear to be shed in some misunderstood mourning. It is usually short, fleeting, gone before you even realize it is there: much like the initial experience itself.
This is not mere nostalgia. It is something far greater. When you experience this, you are not only reminded of that moment, you are returned to it. You are returned to a time when the subtle feeling of prolonged excitement and anticipation associated with that event was not mundane. You are brought back to that time in your life when you first crossed that threshold, knowing your life had changed. You are reminded of the many futures you once envisioned for yourself that never materialized. You are reminded of the people that once meant something to you whose addresses you no longer remember. You are reminded of a time when the future was not written in stone. You are reminded of the fear you once felt, the expectations you once had, and the crushing disappointment you felt when you realized that the world keeps on turning.
This is Eros in the Freudian interpretation, the life energy. It is a hopefulness for the future that, for many, becomes soured with age and experience. It’s a drunken irrationality that fuels our development as human beings. It comes quickly and is gone before one even realizes. It forces you to look back from time to time and consider all that is, all that has been, all that will never be. It is a carrot hanging from a stick that always seems to be just the tiniest bit out of reach, driving us on.
