Both Happy and Sad

Any writer would agree, I think, that sometimes it's incredibly difficult to find the right words for a feeling or emotion that cannot simply be labeled with one word like "happy," "hopeful," or "envious." Sometimes, another person's words do the best job, even if the words are transposed to a different context.

Searching for the words to delineate the nostalgic feelings of making a new home while missing another one has been a long quest of mine. While watching one of my favorite films last night, I stumbled across familiar words that came closer than I have yet.

"I want you to know that I am both happy and sad, and I'm still trying to figure out how that could be." - Charlie, in The Perks of Being a Wallflower (Stephen Chbosky)

I first read Stephen Chbosky's The Perks of Being a Wallflower in high school. I didn't just read it, though. I devoured it, underlining and annotating and "dog-earing" pages that were too good to read only once. I loaned my copy to a friend who would appreciate it like I did, and I welcomed his reaction scribbled on pages and pages of notebook paper exchanged in the library. I reveled in the stranger's words that captured so many of my feelings and perspectives. Quotes from the book continued to decorate my scribblings and notebook decorations throughout the years.

I revisited The Perks of Being a Wallflower on my journey to South Africa. Again, I fell in love with its poignant words and relevance, even after all of these years. It felt like a reunion with Charlie, Patrick, and Sam, who seemed like familiar friends after all of this time. Thanks to a generous friend who shared a digital copy of the film with me, I've watched it over and over since being here.

Book cover (left) and movie poster (right)

While the context may be a bit different, the notion of being "both happy and sad" is the best way I've found to explain one of the more complex emotions I've encountered in my years. When I am traveling, whether across the country or across the world, I repeatedly face this feeling. Of being happy to explore a new place, yet sad to miss the people and places I've left behind.

It's most poignant when something ignites a fond memory from the past. For example, when I'm having my morning coffee and the barista grinds another round of espresso beans, I'm transported to my favorite Starbucks in the whole wide world, the people I've met there, and the memories I've made with them. It also surfaces when I try a new food or drink, thinking I'll experience some uncharted territory of taste, only to stumble into a familiar flavor of home or days long gone.

The trickiest emotion, though, is a reverse experience: feeling happy in the fleeting moment, only to remember that I'll most likely be a bit sad about the very same thing someday. Because soon I'll leave this thing (or person, or place, or feeling) for another home, maybe even an old home, and I'll miss this one as much as all of the other ones. That's the hardest thing for me to capture: the teetering between two ends of the spectrum while your heart tries to find the elusive balance.

And, if you ask me, that sweet spot right in the middle is what Chbosky was writing about when he wrote, "And in that moment, I swear we were infinite." Those rare moments when my feelings aren't in conflict. Instead, they're perfectly coexisting. Just for a moment. Just at the bottom of the pendulum's swing. I've written about those moments before. The ones when I feel like you're in the right place at the right time with the right people. Like in a conversation with a refugee, whose English words came from you. Or the stunning clarity of the mountains in the distance on a morning walk. Or dancing to Goldfish's "Get Busy Living" in front of a spectacular sunset with new friends from a different part of the world.

That tricky emotion - "both happy and sad" - is why I love to adventure, I think. It's why I feel unsettled and claustrophobic when things become complacent and routine. It's a craving for the pendulum swing between happy and sad, for missing something else. It's a yearning for that middle moment of peace and serenity bookended by chaos.

Sometimes I think you can't appreciate where you are, who you're with, and how you feel unless you understand that it is fleeting and fading. Unless you truly understand that you'll miss it from a different perspective. And that the wheel goes on, ultimately leaving you feeling "both happy and sad" when something sparks a memory in the future.

In an effort to fully immerse myself into my experience here, I'm kicking off a series of posts, which I'm referring to as "Five Sense Fridays." For the next few Fridays, I'll choose a sense (sight, hearing, taste, touch, smell) and try to capture some of those things I'm bound to miss about my everyday life in Cape Town. A fun challenge anyone can do... anywhere! Feel free to join.