Nostalgia

The holiday season trades heavily in the currency of nostalgia. From music to movies, to the decorations and traditions, there is a strong reference to a sentimental version of the past. While this can facilitate cheer and goodwill, unless we deliberately pause to center and orient ourselves, we can be swept up in the frenzied commercialism that has come to define our current culture.

In Greek, nostos means “homecoming.” Many of the chapters in The Odyssey are referred to as the Nostoi since they recount the trials and tribulations of Odysseus and his fellow Greeks on their return from the Trojan War. The suffix -algia means pain. If you have ever revisited your home after time away, especially if years have elapsed and/or you have journeyed, what you remember and what you see in present time are no longer the same.

In the current usage of nostalgia we tend to focus on the sweet, warm remembrance of the past, conveniently omitting the grit in our desire to return to something known and unchanging. In times of uncertainty and upheaval, it is natural to yearn for something simpler and safer. The overwhelming possibilities of the present can incline our attention toward a sentimental but ultimately incomplete version of the past. I contend that what we are actually yearning for are the qualities and values of connection that seem so much more difficult to find in present time. It requires less vulnerability to see them in the past, to know how the story unfolds, than to confront the many and increasing challenges of today.

To choose to turn toward connection is to author a new chapter in what will one day be the past. From Ebenezer Scrooge to George Bailey, we are given the impression that a single night of reckoning will yield illumination and course-correction from the brink of catastrophe. Yet the invitation to reframe how we see points to a practice, not a singular experience. The essence of the holiday spirit is calling ourselves, the pieces of our past, and each other back home. This is how we unwrap the gift of the present, no matter what time of year it is.

For more on how chiropractic supports our ability to connect, I recommend this post.

Chop Wood, Listen to Water

The are few things more satisfying than chopping wood. The swing of the axe, the feel of the strike, the sound and smell of the split. It is an ancient task, and one that requires presence. Considerations of bodily safety, the accuracy and force of the strike, the surrounding environment, and how much wood of what size is needed demand clarity of focus.

There are few things more insightful than taking the time to listen to a mountain stream. In cultivating a stillness, quieting the mind, and allowing the ears to open, we can start to hear what the natural world is saying. This is one way that Nature can teach patience and presence, and remind us that we are not separate from, but a part of the world.

There is a well-known Zen proverb that acknowledges that both before and after Enlightenment we must “chop wood and carry water.” I believe it is meant as a metaphor, reminding us that the true practice comes in performing daily tasks with mindfulness.

I also believe it is essential to sometimes literally go out and chop wood and to take the time to listen to water. In this way, we can cultivate presence in both action and stillness, and remind ourselves of the need for both.