I started this entry, weeks ago, under the title "Nostalgia". It invaded me at that time as much as it does now and yet, in the big picture, this is nothing more than a superficial layer for a much deeper structural feeling.
And well, as curiosity is my engine and compass, I could not help but -quietly- let the beautiful Nostalgia invade me and penetrate every corner of my day and my dreams, to -from my stillness- observe and feel every nuance and every layer she wanted to show me.
And I reached her centre.
Nostalgia would be a view of the past from Solitude.
I approached Solitude.
Solitude, still and silent,
invaded me and penetrated me as well.
Solitude, still and silent,
made a lump in my throat.
And I cried bitterly out of Solitude.
I felt, in every tear and every pain, also every name, face, moment, kiss, laugh, idealisation, tenderness, love, insult, mistreatment, devaluation, contempt, disdain, blame, deflection, and cynicism… Resounding mixes of what had to be left behind.
And while it is true that Solitude felt that way,
it also went through me without leaving wounds.
At her centre, finally,
I saw myself.
Girl-woman.
I saw myself full of scars and scabs.
Covered in mud, tar, blood, and sweat.
I saw myself tired and hurt,
but more whole than ever.
Growing up is also an absolutely painful journey: Not only because the fight with our own demons is hard, painful, and shameful; but because many, many times, that growth will involve loneliness: because of the people who separated their paths from ours because we did not learn in time, and because sometimes growing up means also deciding to separate our own paths from the people we love and who were important to us (basically, because staying would mean going back down a road where it is not possible to go back, and that will not bring us satisfaction or happiness of any kind).
...And because our own versions of ourselves, which were left behind, also remind us that in those versions we were happier with less (and we accepted the painful, abusive unhappiness as one more ingredient of that status quo).
And therein lies Nostalgia.
We were born alone.
It is the destiny of Life to meet Death and it is the destiny of every Beginning to meet its End; which does not make the experience of any event less real. If anything, this awareness helps us to live each adventure from the peace of its absolute, and ephemeral, genuineness.
Perhaps that is why growing is so worth it despite the price one pays: The path to the end becomes peaceful and one begins to find gentle aromas after a journey of thorns.
Perhaps that is why growing is so worth it despite the price one pays: The price of meeting oneself, without fear, is truly impossible to measure.