Lost Worlds

The wind is full of ghosts tonight

That tap and sigh upon the glass

And listen for reply.

-  Edna St. Vincent Millay

I usually hate nostalgia. I've been so nomadic all my life that remembering yesterday means remembering lost worlds and forgotten friends and lives I could have lived but didn't. Nostalgia is always melancholic. It's about loss. I hate it. Usually.

The most exotic people for me were those who spent their whole lives together, cohorts that were born, lived, and died in one small town.  It fascinated me that some people go through this journey with the same companions all the way. For me, my memories are scattered.  Each period of my life has involved a new tribe, and only a few people seem to cross with me from me. I'm always chomping at the bit for different and new horizons, but living this life has it's cost. I suppose that all lives do.  

I moved to Hawai`i with the inention of staying put, come hell or high water, at least ten years (and I think it's been fourteen already). I wanted to know what it felt like to have one single group of friends for longer than a few years. 

You can stay put, but this world is still nomadic. I never quite realized how much.  I have lived as many lives, and have as many lost worlds, as if I had stayed on the move. Fourteen years, but I've easily been through four or five lives here, and they don't really intersect.

Facebook triggered this round of nostalgia. It's been good website for nomads - suddenly I'm finding people that I lost track of years ago. Maybe that's why it's become so insanely popular; we've all gone nomadic, and this is allowing us to reconnect. 

And I've been ok with this. Nostalgia isn't all bad.  And so I spent yesterday digitizing old photos, and I'll be putting them up online this week.