Nostalgia: What is it good for?

I find myself increasingly frustrated with nostalgia as I get older.

I am particularly susceptible to nostalgia, especially as I age. And why? What good does it do?

Maybe I am just overly cynical today. But I started thinking this yesterday and don't have a satisfactory answer, yet. Because the majority of people I am most nostalgic about, (thankfully there are a few exceptions) I cannot say with any amount of confidence that I am the least bit close to any longer. And these friendships I have tried to maintain as best I can, without bordering on stalker tendencies or overstepping my bounds as a wife, only to have to give them up for lost. At best, I am left at least with casual acquaintances, nothing more.

Not that there is anything wrong with casual acquaintances, either. Normally, I don't object to them. Everyone needs them. They make life pleasant. But when a large majority of those "acquaintances" are people you used to have deep and meaningful friendships with, it seems cheapened, somehow.

And this is hard on me. My heart seems to be such that, once a real bond is formed, I do not want to let that go at any cost. And yet if that is what the other person wants after months or years, what can I do?

I suspect this has something to do with the fact that God created me as an eternal being. Also that he made me relational. In Heaven, I suspect that this will all make much more sense, and that better yet, I will be able to love people exactly as I should, without any of my blasted selfishness and absurdities clogging things up. Someday, I suspect I will be able to do this all right and as intended. I know God didn't make my heart this way by accident.

But in the meantime, it's frustrating. One can't live on happy memories. One can't bask in the glow of reminiscence all day. I can channel the best of it into my writings and my novels, but in the end what am I really left with other than good stories?

Don't get me wrong. I have many wonderful friendships. I am not truly lonely.

But it seems the best way me and the people I know determine to get on in life, is by very formal, structured relationships. Labels, proprieties, etc. all have to be in their proper place. At times this is hard for my impulsive, passionate, and deliberate nature.

So I stumble along as best I can. Better to do that then upset, offend, or bother people, I guess.

I'll keep waiting for "someday" in the meanwhile. Keep writing, try not to let it bother me in the long run, and don't regret. Better to have had for a little while than not at all. I have been blessed in my friendships, whatever their duration.

Living in Jane Austen's Footsteps

Random thought today that I wanted to get down on "paper."

My life (or rather the people I've encountered) can be looked at through the lens of Austen. I have encountered versions of her characters here in the 21st Century. Let me explain.

My first serious boyfriend was a Captain Benwick. Passionate, fond of literature and art, and storming away about his love for me. Thankfully I realized several weeks in that we would be better off in the long run as friends. While that took some difficult arranging, a rough breakup and several months to heal later, we had one of the best friendships it was my pleasure to experience in high school.

My next boyfriend...ah, that is a bit harder. I don't think he was a cad; not a rake or rattle by Austen's definition. Of course we fought and horribly so, but in the end I would describe us as two people with divergent personalities that just weren't meant to be. Let us say Mrs. and Mr. Palmer. The initial attractions that brought us together were not lasting enough to form a permanent union, (and thankfully we at least avoided the folly of marrying.) Most of our personality traits grated on each other horribly, and though I tried to put a good face on it all, in the end we were too different to ever be truly happy together. And at 16, I was rather a laughing idiot at times.

I personally met in high school a Wickam/Willoughby. Though never romantically interested in him myself, (thank God) I watched him over the years break his share of hearts and cause more than his share of scandal. He had a talent to deceive right off the bat, and made you both endeared with him and usually making the mistake of trusting him instantly. He also managed to impregnate then leave a girl at least once, without much in the way of responsibility. Luckily, his actions showed him to be a rake, but to this day, (1o years later) there are still people who are deceived by him, (I myself fell prey to this defect for awhile, and much like Lizzy Bennett had to admit with great embarrassment how I had been wrong, then do my best to stay on my guard from him going forward.) and who will still defend him against accusations of his crimes. Such is life.

In the ways of the heart, I started out a Marianne who learned from experience and bad choices to become an Elinor, (see previous post on Marianne versus Elinor for a more in depth explanation) and eventually trust my head more than my heart. I flirted with someone who was somewhat a Frank Churchill; he seemed interested in me for awhile, but really he was somewhat secretly in love with another, and eventually my pride was wounded in his choosing to no longer pay his attentions to me. And like Emma, I have done a poor job in matchmaking for some of my friends, (sorry Justin and Claire!) and had to learn the hard way to let these things be, and work themselves out.

My mother is rather like Catherine Moreland's; good, moral, and eager for me to have a righteous turn of mind. My father I loved as Elizabeth Bennett loved and was closest to hers, though he is probably more a Sir John Middleton, ornery and yet a man's man in his way. I have silly younger sisters that I love, just as Elinor and Lizzy both did. And finally, I married a Mr. Bingley, though I have nowhere near the love and goodness of a Jane. As a writer I merely hope to be as clever as her sister Elizabeth someday. ;-)

My friend Amanda reminds me of Anne Elliot's friend Mrs. Smith, (without the destitution) with her wise ways and observations; a much better judge of character than my often reckless self. My friend Betsy is very much a Charlotte Lucas, unceasingly practical and quietly loving, (and occasionally cynically clever.) And my husband's friend Morgan reminds me ever so much of Robert Ferris; for he is convinced he knows everything and always does things the best way; and is the expert over everyone on any subject that comes to hand. (I am sure Robert, had he lived in this day and age, would leave annoying messages on people's Facebook pages with his opinion on everyone's statuses, taking care to always correct any 'wrong' statement he came across in his perusing.) My friend Kari is a true Jane with her goodness and ability to believe the best in people. And I personally was friends with an Isabella Thorpe from Middle School up through high school. I wish I had been able to wise up to that as fast as Catherine Moreland had!

I guess what caused me to think of all this in the first place was how many different Jane Austen novels were mentioned or had parallels in my novels. My main character also marries a Mr. Bingley type, (not a coincidence) my secondary heroine wants a Mr. Darcy for herself, but in the end picks a Mr. Tilney instead, (after dating a Mr. Brandon/Darcy hybrid.) I think the main point is that many of the human observations about society that Jane Austen made in her novels, still remain, in essence, true about people today. Individuals do change, but I think their inherent nature and types are destined to repeat again and again. The question is whether we can still recognize them as the cultural particulars continue to be the only variation.

Or maybe I just read too much into things.