A little more than two years ago, I started experiencing a very unique feeling, the sort of complex emotion that’s hard to put into words, but that I’d describe as a “bittersweet, existential, anxiety-inducing nostalgia.”
I’m not quite sure how else to put it, and I’m writing this as a way to see if putting it into words can help me clarify it in a more structured form. Many days, I’d go to sleep and wake up feeling this bizarre mixture of happiness and melancholy.
But of course, I know the reason: my kids.
This emotional rollercoaster arrived shortly after my first child came into my life almost three years ago, and now, after my daughter arrived six months ago, it has intensified.
Every time I get to do something with my young kids, either individually or together, it’s a precious moment surrounded by pure love where we build a connection that will forever bind us in this brief period called life. And every time that moment ends, it makes me sad to think that eventually they’ll grow up and I’ll never have this again.
I recall the myriad of practical advice around logistics and economics that people offered before I became a parent, but I don’t think I was actively listening for any emotional advice (sorry, Dad) to prepare for such a complex and deep range of emotions.
I wanted to put into words what I’m currently going through, just how immensely happy I am, but to the point that it makes me afraid.
