Drunk on Summer Nostalgia
Nostalgia is the summer our midlife awakenings are made of.
The swirling rush of looking back and looking ahead
forever with our toes in the water and our head in the clouds
Summer is for pulling threads of original selves and past lives
until they pool at our feet.
Piles of that girl, that woman, that spirit, that soul
I’ve been out with lanterns looking for.
She still there.
And there.
And there.
Right where I left her.
chlorine dripping from her hair / orange blossoms on the breeze after dark / salty eyebrows / sun-kissed skin / freckled nose / neon sunsets gnashed between her teeth / splashing in fountains / constellations fill her eyes / shells around her ankle / sand between her toes / a board under her feet/ surface of the water overhead/ soul aglow
last week
last month
last year
last decade
last century
light years away
far away, so close
Nostalgia pulls the threads of me begging to unravel
that cord running through her
and her
and her
all the way down to the sandy floor of me.
Strips of leather and strings of shell, drawstrings and swimsuit ties
twists of a cord I will never cut leading me back to the surface gasping for breath
A trail of loose ends may be frayed at the edges,
tattered and threadbare from the desert wind and coastal waves.
Perfect for the pulling.
Perfect for following and tracing and mapping
for pattern-finding and braid-making
for the work of weaving back in
the golden flecked threads that have always been mine.
over-under
over-under
Nostalgia is what our gorgeous midlife awakenings are made of.
Longer days settling under horizon lines, under water, under hotter and hotter nights
Thin spaces where the lines between what was and what is get blurred under the strangle-hold of electricity and heat
Perfect threshold for the telling of tales
Secrets of sirens and pirates, nymphs and sprites
whispers from the magic of BEFORE.
Before heartbreak and grief.
Before shipwreck and soul rot.
Before drowning in riptides, strong currents pulling out to sea.
Before walking out of classrooms and straight into sanctuaries.
Before folding an ultraviolet double helix neatly into boxes.
Before erasing every trace of ourselves and our breadcrumb trail of dreams.
Before exchanging intuition and instinct for kingdom keys.
Before corner offices and altar calls.
Before seeing behind the curtain, those little men at the mic.
Before winding roads and hitting dead ends.
Before unspoken rules turned into epitaphs.
Before faith floated up to the surface empty and dead.
Before choking on the smoke of bridges burned.
Before crisis stored itself in every single cell.
Before survival mode dug its claws into dendrites.
Before denial and spin and damage control and betrayal knew us by name.
Before fear taught our bodies to shake.
Before sleepless nights and sleeping the day away.
Before ash and bone settled in our wake.
Before time of death under neon skies.
Before rounding our shoulders concave.
Before carrying weight that was never ours.
Before turning down the light.
Before reigning in the wild.
Before knowing our place.
Before playing a role.
Before quieting our voice.
Before keeping the peace.
Before pretending to be unaffected.
Before tempering our rage.
Before bracing for impact.
Before holding our breath.
BEFORE, but also throughout.
Over and under.
Woven in between.
We are there.
And there.
And there.
Nostalgia is a key to our gorgeous midlife awakening.
To our unlocking.
our reintegrating
our releasing
our resurrecting
The green ribbon* around our throats, talismans belonging to us alone.
We pull loose our threads until they pool at our feet,
swim in their waters,
free to dive down deep,
all the stories are ours,
we are every river
we are the entire sea.
And one by one, thread by thread,
we choose what to release downstream and what to re-weave
back into ourselves YET AGAIN.
Yet again with love.
Yet again at sea, a phosphorescent glow.
Yet again at the helm, on course navigating by the stars.
Yet again intellectually honest.
Yet again twisting and stretching out end to end.
Yet again collecting artifacts among ruins.
Yet again flinging open cage doors just to witness flight.
Yet again under cathedral skies.
Yet again under our own authority.
Yet again in wide open spaces.
Yet again out gathering bones.
Yet again swimming under supernovas.
Yet again gathering old wood to light new beacons.
Yet again filling every shriveled cell to bursting.
Yet again acting on our own behalf.
Yet again licking our incisors and singing full-throated under full moons.
Yet again breathing deep.
Yet again choosing rest.
Yet again keeping a hot wick and a whole heart.
Yet again sunsets reflecting on the lake bringing us back to life.
Yet again taking up our space.
Yet again straightening our spine and carrying only our own work.
Yet again a fireball burning across the sky.
Yet again reclaiming feral territory.
Yet again trespassing everywhere.
Yet again playing simply for the sake of delight.
Yet again trusting my voice.
Yet again riding waves.
Yet again allowing ourselves to feel it all.
Yet again dragoning.
Yet again softening.
Yet again metabolizing light from 93million miles away and breathing free.
Nostalgia is the gorgeous summer our midlife awakenings are made of.
Who we’ve been, pointing us to who we still are.
Said to be “the wistful or excessively sentimental yearning to return to some past period or irrecoverable condition” (shoutout to Merriam-Webster)
or maybeeee…
Nostalgia is the drifting through what has always been true
the currents of BEFORE and YET AGAIN
swirling of fingertips in the waters of our own stories
rewriting endings and maybe even some beginnings
keeping some tales tucked into back pockets (alongside our matches)
letting others float away free downstream toward the sea
Nostalgia is the reveling and remembering and releasing and resurrecting
coming back for seconds and thirds and letting the juice of it all drip down our chins
drunk on our own lives
in true summer fashion.
*the tale of the green ribbon as told in Her Body and Other Parties book by Carmen Maria Machado
FIVE FAVES
Every song by Wild Rivers but especially this sweet one for peak summer nostalgia vibes.
My latest IPSY delivery has me now in love with this facial cleanser (mind you I usually use this, don’t yell at me) and I am such a sucker for the “fine grains of desert earth” and what i’ve decided is for sure an orange blossom scent.
This crunchy Mediterranean tuna salad even my teenagers are obsessed with. It’s gorgeous and delicious and not even doubling the recipe is enough in our house if I want leftovers for the next day.
My favorite swimsuit coverup which I wear all day long all summer long without apology.
I’m trying to read more fiction these days and just finished this juicy one and now I am very invested in all the rumors about who is going to play the lead in the film version.
“swirling of fingertips in the waters of our own stories” so much beautiful imagery! I loved this so much. ✨