Down the tracks
My 3-year-old has been a train guy for as long as I can remember. He loves the chug-chug-hiss of the steam locomotives, the endless chain of freight cars. Our most listened to playlist is a compilation of train songs for kids.
There's one by Dolly Parton called "I Believe in You" based on The Little Engine That Could that goes like this:
So stay on track and don't look back
Just know the rules, and learn the facts
Clickety, clickety, clickety, clack
I believe in you
"Don't look back" is great advice for 3-year-olds. The scratch on your knee will heal; don't look back. Your baby brother doesn't know how to share yet and didn't mean to hit you like that; don't look back. You had a nightmare and it's over now; don't look back.
My husband calls me a "nostalgia machine". He didn't exactly marry me for my stories. If he could pick one commandment to repeat to me, over and over like a magic spell, it would be "don't look back".
Actually, he would probably bargain for two spells: "chill", and "don't look back".
I think this is terrible advice for adults.
I've spent a lot of my life being on the receiving end of "don't be so sad". To varying degrees, this has infuriated me, shut down my ability to process my feelings with that person or friend, shut me up like a little kid being chastised by an impatient grown-up.
I know how to not be sad. It means to kill off my will to live deeply. It means to close my eyes to beauty. It means to silence myself when my floodgates are bursting.
Turning all that off, I worry I may never get it back.
A life lived within the bounds of safe cliches is a life without art. Cliches are for Hollywood one-liners. They are snackable. They fit on movie posters. They make money.
I think I grew up in an increasingly mediated age, and we collectively lost the crucial physical space for shared solemnity. It didn't match what I noticed in literature and old films. I think I resented this.
As a young person wallowing in my sadness, I wasn't exactly looking back – I was looking down. I was on a particular train of life, and it was going too fast. I was afraid. The ground sped away beneath me. I relived shameful, shocking moments in my head as it was all happening simultaneously. You can't enjoy the train ride when you're looking down.
At some point, I switched trains. This happened to me when I gave birth. A complete fracturing of the self. An undoing – unplanned, unstoppable.
Now, on a different train, I can safely look back. And the scenery is beautiful.
I see my child self alongside my actual children. She who struggled to follow the rules, and was confused about the facts. She is the one showing me the way for how to talk to my kids when they are sad.
When I look back, I am nurturing her.
So take your time, and do look back
Just don't get stuck on what you lack
Clickety, clickety, clickety, clack
I believe in you
Sadness should not necessarily be some pitiful defect to be abhorred. Sadness is often part and parcel of the deepest love.
If you go slow enough.
You will encounter a deity, a mother, a nurse, a poem. A critter of the earth. A moth on the cheek. A weeping sky. And they will cup your trickling tears and hold your hand.
My memories will go with me when I pass.
This little life, it’s all we have.