I have long labored under an affliction I call persistent nostalgia. It’s not debilitating like a medical condition, but it’s something I have to overcome on a regular basis. I have attachments to things just because they exist, and because I know about them. I long for things, oblivious of other people’s lack of interest.
For instance, in junior high, I became obsessed with pocket watches. I’m sure I saw some old guy use one in a movie I saw as a kid in the early seventies, and thought it was the end-all, be-all of style. For my thirteenth birthday, I asked for, and got, a pocket watch.
Jeans (or dungarees, as my parents called them) have a coin pocket on the right side, in the opening of the regular pocket. That coin pocket is perfect size for a pocket watch. (For all I know, it was originally intended for pocket watches for people who didn’t wear vests.)
I used it for a couple of years, with a chain attached to my belt loop. It was dorky and weird, but I liked it.
When that phase passed, I kept the pocket watch in a box of some kind and toted it with from place to place over the years.
Now I’m in my mid-fifties, and my persistent nostalgia is stronger than ever, but now it longs for the many things I’ve left behind. The longing is amplified by the knowledge that I’m basically on borrowed time. My biological duties on earth are complete, and nature has little use for me.
The global pandemic punches all of us in the face with the idea that we’re on borrowed time. Some people do their best to disregard those feelings of impending doom, but I’m in the camp who tries to appreciate each day—each moment—as precious, and acknowledges that one day, eventually, I will die.
It doesn’t depress me to think this way. I try to use it as a tool to keep me humble and focused on what matters: making use of the time given, and deciding what’s important to me based on my values. (Those values are related to family, friends and community, by the way.)
Despite being punched in the face about my mortality, this is a busy world in which we live with lots of distractions. I could, for instance, fly to Mexico or the Dominican Republic and stay drunk for a six-day, five-night visit. I could hop on a charter to Vegas for a four-day, three-night bender, with coupons for the buffet. It’s hard to resist these temptations to forget the problems we face and our uncertain future.
I considered purchasing a Memento Mori, which is a token used to remind us of our mortality. (The phrase is Latin for “remember that you will one day die or something like that.) They are minted with the “Memento Mori” embossed (or whatever it’s called) on the face, and a skull or something grim on the reverse.
Remember that you must die…
I stumbled upon my pocket watch, nestled inside a jewelry box with various trinkets from my youth and wrist watches I no longer wear. It seemed the perfect Memento Mori – it was and old, mechanical watch living on borrowed time. If I wound it up, it ticked, but lost time over the course of the day and had to be moved ahead a bit.
Those imperfections for time keeping are an accurate metaphor of life itself. We have to wind ourselves up each day to get going, and we may get confused from time to time (*ahem*) and need correction. I carried it around with me for the past month and, in quiet moments, the sound of the ticking watch in my pocket reminded me of both my fun-loving, hopeful youth and that none of this is permanent. It in a rather good memento mori.
This morning, as I composed this blog post, I needed a break and stretched out on the bed for a nap. I dozed briefly, which is how my naps work best: feel a bit of brain fog, take a little break, feel refreshed!
As I wrapped up this story, I heard an all-too-familiar sound: the chomp, chomp, chomp of our puppy, Ollie, chewing on something hard. When we checked it out, we discovered, alas, my Westclox Scotty pocket watch had been cracked and bent by the dog powerful bite. It had fallen out of my pocket as I napped, and the dog found it there and claimed it for his own.
I’m a little bit heartbroken. I’d kept that watch for no good reason the past forty-three years. Just a few weeks after finding a new, great reason to use it, chaos (in the form of a five-month-old Australian Shepherd) has changed my plans.
It’s a fitting twist to the story. In addition to remembering to stay humble because this life is impermanent, we must also remember that chaos will thwart our plans. To succeed, we must persist and adapt.
The pocket watch keeps ticking, so I’ll leave it on my desk to help me focus on the tasks I need to complete to accomplish my goals. I’ll also purchase a new pocket watch with a fob to take around with me, to help me focus as I venture out into the world.
As for the dog, well, I think he and I will take a little walk. The sun is shining and it’s a glorious day to be enjoyed.