Nostalgia’s Yearning

The Curating of Real and Imagined Spaces

“Close your eyes and recall a house or space where you have felt held, connected, comforted, and uplifted.”

This was the invitation in an essay I read the week before Christmas. It was early in the morning, the window still offering only darkness. The colored lights of our Christmas tree glowed, and a YouTube fireplace scene flickered on the television screen. I had wanted to create a cozy, soothing spot for reading and drinking coffee before jumping into a busy, task-filled day.

Photo by Josh Zlaket on Unsplash

But was that what the essay writer meant?

I certainly feel all those things (comforted, connected, uplifted) in the home I share with my husband of 35 years. Yet I think the invitation was even more spiritual and embodied than that.

Several days before, I had been reminded of the Welsh word hiraeth (pronounced HEER-eye-th). Hiraeth is a complex term that evokes a yearning for a place or a version of the past that may no longer exist, or perhaps never existed as it is remembered. Like many of the best words, it has no equivalent English translation. The emotion it carries is that bittersweet grief that creeps up on us like shadows lengthening at the end of day. It leaves us uncertain of whether what we feel is tilted more toward joy at the cherished memory or sadness at its forever being in the rearview mirror. During a beach vacation in 2024, I wrote a poem that begins: I am a child of waves—/Present, absent…

Indeed, we all are.

The concept of hiraeth resonates with me on many levels. Maybe I feel it deeply because I’m a writer and poet, or because at age 55, I can reasonably conclude that I’ve crossed the threshold of more life behind than ahead. Being a childhood trauma survivor also figures in. When I first read the prompt about recalling a space where you felt held, I wondered (a bit bitterly, if I’m honest) if others had immediately thought of their childhood homes. That would never be the case for me.

One of the things those of us on healing journeys are trying to learn is to create this safe space within ourselves, a place where grace and self-compassion abound. It means trusting that we will never turn on ourselves with ugly words and harsh recriminations.

Still, our interior selves must exist in the tangible and external, so those spaces matter, too.

One of my dear friends and I joke about how much of our “precious writing time” we lose in pursuit of the ideal writing space. In addition to it being neatly organized, the writing nook needs the “right” of everything—candle, journal, pen, hot beverage, soft throw blanket, windowscape. Even as we laugh at ourselves, I see the necessity in curating a space where connection and comfort allow us to safely open the door to the creative process. I think we are pursuing a kind of hiraeth, a place that can be as far away and mystical as Narnia or as near and real as our own hearts.

Photo by Davis Patton on Unsplash

Read my friend’s beautiful meditation on a writing space here.