Anticipated Nostalgia

At the outset, this post was inspired by Matt Miller’s poem “Far Away” that found its way fortuitously to my inbox. An earlier draft of this post was titled “Scent of a Home” in tribute to his poignant piece grappling with the future departure of his daughter for college. I began by reflecting on the smells of Rosslyn in our early days — a braid of dust, must, and cigarette smoke — as well as the moment I realized that the home no longer smelled the way it had when we took possession. Initially, it seemed that this olfactory link was what compelled me. But rereading and revising revealed that it was in fact something else that resonated for me: anticipated nostalgia. So today’s dispatch reflects that metamorphosis.

Let’s first explore one of the most plaintive passages in conjunction with Miller’s explanation.

Proleptic Melancholy

I’ve lost now, her scent, that curl of flower that must have slipped past me like a wraith, like a breath of days spun through years, like a rain that hushes the silence.

― Matt W. Miller, “Far Away” (Source: Academy of American Poets)

The poet’s choice of the word “wraith” is startling and slightly unsettling. But the ephemerality of scent and its palpable absence are arresting even when gentled by comparison with breath and rain. This sentence hits like a hammer despite the delicateness of its delivery.

His poem is coupled with a brief elucidation.

I wrote this poem [“Far Away”] the summer before my daughter left for college, when I was already feeling her imminent absence as a cavernous presence. I’m sure I’m not alone in proleptic melancholy, that anticipatory nostalgia for what will be gone. I wrote this not only out of a place of sadness for what will pass, for all the things that will no longer be present, but also with an appreciation for the intensity of these feelings, for how lucky we are as humans to love so much, to feel such beautiful hurt, even before the hurt has happened.

― Matt W. Miller (Source: Academy of American Poets)

So much in there that feels familiar. In fact, I feel as if I could have written some of that myself. I didn’t. And I didn’t know what to make of “proleptic melancholy,” and “anticipatory nostalgia”, phrases that made sense, that pulled me, but that struck me as possessing some clinical power with which I should be more familiar before attempting to use them.

And it turns out my instinct was prudent. 

Anticipated Nostalgia

What I have learned is that there is an important distinction between proleptic/anticipatory nostalgia and anticipated nostalgia.

When individuals foresee looking back on a life event and expecting to feel nostalgic about it in the future, they experience anticipated nostalgia. In contrast, when they experience nostalgia now when looking ahead to a life event (e.g., future losses), they experience anticipatory nostalgia.

[…] Anticipated nostalgia is predominantly positive. It is bittersweet, with “sweet” outweighing the “bitter”, and its affective profile largely resembles that of personal nostalgia.

— Wing-Yee Cheung (Source: “Anticipated Nostalgia”, ScienceDirect)

In the photograph above Pam captured me hammocking on April 18, 2020 during our pandemic quarantine. I’m looking at Rosslyn’s icehouse, pipe dreaming and brainstorming toward what would eventually ripen into the icehouse rehabilitation project. I can’t transport myself back in time. But I suspect that even then — as I was conjuring the confection that I’d been dreaming about since 2006 — I was already anticipating not only the immense reward of completing the rehab, but also the inevitably bittersweet triumph, coming as it would so close to the time when Susan and I would be winding down our tenure at Rosslyn. And whether or not that’s accurate, over the last couple of years anticipated nostalgia has permeated blog post after blog post as I both celebrate and lament the arc of our life at this singular dwelling.

From wanderlust to houselust through houselust to wonderlust, our adventure continues. Old chapters end, and new chapters begin. With each new threshold, a bittersweet goodbye and a wellspring of enthusiasm for what is beginning. Always both. And so it is, as we cartwheel toward a new threshold, I do not run from the anticipated nostalgia even as I cultivate excitement and optimism for the still uncharted chapter(s) ahead!