Sad? Happy? Both?

Throughout our lives we have become accustomed to familiar pairs of items and/or concepts. Things like peanut butter and jelly, salt and pepper, macaroni and cheese, bacon and eggs, Bonnie and Clyde, etc. We simply accept them because we understand their meanings. One term, the combination of bitter and sweet is a bit more difficult to comprehend.

I’ve come to understand the term ‘bittersweet’ as that combination of happiness along with sadness. They may seem incongruous, but they are very much intertwined. It’s explained well in the following passage from Nathaniel Hawthorne:

“And what is more melancholy than the old apple-trees that linger about the spot where once stood a homestead, but where there is now only a ruined chimney rising out of a grassy and weed-grown cellar?”

At a simple level, it’s that mixture of feeling happy along with a feeling of loss or regret. Similar to Nick Carraway’s advice to Gatsby that Gatsby would never be able to recreate his past. The age-old advice, “you can’t go home again,” isn’t meant literally. Physically you can return to the places of your past, but they will never spawn the same feelings you had in a previous part of your life.

Why am I talking about this again? I suppose because my mind works in ways that might be different from others. I really don’t know. But as to the concept of bitter and sweet, I find it tough to handle. It’s like an adrenaline rush that doesn’t last. Sort of like the anticipation of an important day, and then it arrives and is over in a flash.

For me it’s also a book from a favorite author that finally is in print and I devour it in two days. It’s gone and there will be a long time until the next. I feel empty. I had the sweetness of the words and the bitterness of nothing more when it’s done.

Case in point. I’ve been working for several years to write a book. I conducted interviews, did loads of intense research, and pored over the materials I could find. I searched for relevant photographs. Then came the process of organizing and planning the format of the book. Writing ensued. More research was conducted at various stages. Photos were inserted throughout the book. A bibliography was created along with a list of all of the folks with whom I spoke.

The materials fill a 3” binder and then some. My work represents my heart and soul. Though it grew to be 30,000 words and 150 photographs, it all fit on a flash drive no bigger than my thumb. I had a hard time letting go of that flash drive when I turned it in to the publisher recently.

Call it trepidation, call it perfectionism, call it bittersweet. My adventure to create a book is over. Will it be good enough? Will readers find it interesting? Will I be happy with it? Will I find a way to fill the void?

Bittersweet. The feeling of turning the product of my heart and soul over to someone else. The chase is over. But the investment of myself in the project is immeasurable. I’m fully aware that I was unable to cover all of the areas of my subject matter. It was difficult to have to decide to push things aside and hope that someone else will do that work.

Bittersweet. It’s the flutter and flip of the stomach while anticipating that long awaited date. If the date went well, it’s the reality that it will never be recaptured in the same way.

Bittersweet. It’s feeling the wonder and awe of something well done, all the while knowing it can never happen again in the same way.

Because I’m an individual who feels very deeply, this may seem a bit sad and/or gloomy. In all honesty I feel that bittersweet events, feelings, experiences, allow us to open ourselves to others that will occur in our lives. It’s transitional. We learn to enjoy and let go of each experience, thus to allow us the ability to embrace those yet to come.

“So let’s sink another drink/And it’ll give me time to think/If I had the chance, I’d ask the world to dance/And I’d be dancing with myself…”

These lyrics by Billy Idol speak about that feeling of being lonely in a crowd. It’s a good way to describe the feeling of a bittersweet moment. You’re empty, unable to connect, but it doesn’t last.