“We write to taste life twice, in the moment, and in retrospection.”
So said Anais Nin, a woman whose journaling began at age 11 and continued throughout her long life. She described her relationship with the psychoanalyst Otto Rank soon after their contact:
As he talked, I thought of my difficulties with writing, my struggles to articulate feelings not easily expressed. Of my struggles to find a language for intuition, feeling, instincts which are, in themselves, elusive, subtle, and wordless.
How hard is it to understand others — to see them in full as they wish to be seen? To what degree can every word, thought, and expression be fathomed as it emerges, and when it does not?
Consider the quotation above. How much of a flavor is retained? To what extent does the act of remembering itself transform what has happened, even as it fades and alters with age?
The celephane-wrapped freshness of our past recedes in favor of a modified reminiscence.
Nin recognized something else. She was a student of psychoanalysis and realized that she required more than one language to convey what best fit her desire to communicate.
As Wikipedia notes, “she (first) wrote in French and did not begin to write in English until she was 17.[11] Nin believed that French was the language of her heart, Spanish was the (tongue) of her ancestors, and English…the (dialect) of her intellect. The writing in her diaries is (therefore)…trilingual.”
Our reflections change as we contemplate our former selves, our loves and losses, our encounters with books, work, failure, and success in a changing world. The growth and metamorphosis brought by aging offer new perspectives.
Heraclitus reminds us, “no man steps into the same river twice, for it is not the same river and he is not the same man.”
Time is a master teacher if we listen to its voice.
To the good, laughter survives in the form of stories, along with some of our private sentiment.
Enough.
In a week, will you recognize yours truly at my unchanging keyboard? Will you think of me as you do now? And what will your mirror hold?
Ask Anais Nin and Heraclitus.
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All of the images are sourced from Wikimedia Commons. Woman Writing with a Pen is the work of Kristin Hardwick. It is followed by Anais Nin as a Teenager about 1920. Finally, Nin’s Signature.
interesting – yes, perspectives change with time and experience, but it is also fills in so many blanks to see ‘where we were’ in our thoughts and hearts at a point in life and where we might have been had we the perspective we now have. I am also thrilled when I learn a word or expression from another language that describes a feeling or circumstance that I’ve had, that English just doesn’t cover.
Yes, Beth, it is quite a “find” to discover what other languages offer, sometimes surpassing our own. Our old and new selves are revealed with time and reflection. Thank you for your always welcome perspective, Beth.
Your reflection stirs something quiet and familiar in me, the sense that writing is both a mirror and a passage. When I return to old words, I meet versions of myself that still breathe beneath the changes time has made. Nin was right: writing lets us live twice, each time a little differently. Maybe that’s the gift of it—to see how our truths soften, deepen, and reshape with every remembrance.
Also, I love what “the celephane-wrapped freshness of our past” evokes… such a powerful analogy.
Thanks, Erin. As you say, life offers many possible and many different discoveries, about others and ourselves. Nin recognized the possibility of living twice. Remarkable, indeed.
Dr. Stein! Thank you for sharing the Anais Nin quote to kick off your essay. It’s a favorite…but one I’d forgotten.
Time spent reflecting, contemplating becomes more purposeful for me with every passing year. What a beautiful reminder as I look at the busy week ahead! ❤️
Thank you, Vicki. I have no doubt that the passage of time holds its own enlightenment for you. Your thoughts of your mom, doubtless are in the mix. My parents, too, still participate in my own lived experience.
I look forward to your weekly columns, always thoughtful … this piece was especially wonderful. Thank you.
How kind of you, Rhonda. Much appreciated.
I am fascinated by the tri-lingual expression of Anais Nin. I didn’t know that and it’s a wonderful expression of our complexity. And you will have me pondering for sometime your question “To what extent does the act of remembering itself transform what has happened, even as it fades and alters with age?”
Great essay, Dr. Stein!
Thank you, Wynne. The research I am aware of does support that our memory of individual events changes. Then, of course, we know that a bunch of people who witness the same event come up with different beliefs on what occurs, and testify to these differences when they are witnesses in court. . All of this raises the question of whether there is some real event instead of multiple notions about what reality is, and whether there is such a thing as reality.
Upon my mom’s passing several years ago, we went through 92 years of stuff. She had tons of journals, many of which detailed mundane activities (e.g., “Went to the dentist today and had a cleaning”) rather than her private thoughts. I often wonder if it was her way of simply having a way to recall past events.
Why do I write? It’s a lot cheaper than therapy. 😊
You gave me a good laugh, Pete. Your thoughts about your mother are worth consideration. The issue of memory is certainly more complicated than many believe. Thank you.
I didn’t know Anais Nin wrote trilingually. Quite interesting! When I lived in Montreal, it was common for conversations to take place in 2 or 3 languages with people flipping to another language when an expression better fit what they wanted to say it another language. This was a wonderful dance between people, who first determined the common languages each person spoke and then used those languages to express themselves. I miss that living in the USA, it was more than a connection between people, it allowed much deeper communication to flow.
I am not adept enough at a second language to do what you enjoyed, Tamara, but took in a bit of it using my less than ideal fluency of German and Yiddish. I can only imagine what you and Nin are describing. Thank you.
Dr. Stein, I understand well the difficulty Anais Nin expressed in the quote shared. I’ve found that some of my feelings are best expressed in poetic form. I’ve also found it easier to express certain emotions in Portuguese that I had never expressed in English. Cultural differences – anglo-Guyanese vs Brazilian – played an important role.
Without a doubt, differences in time and space do shape/re-shape the stories we tell about our former selves. Imagine, too, when we try to re-write those stories to create a fictional self or national historical past. The resulting psychosis could well lead to chaos.
Yours is a wise and experienced commentary on a communicational experience many of us lack, Rosaliene. Thank you for the insight, with the addition of a poetic language well outside of my own.
🙂 <3
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I’m glad that I took up journaling after reading Writing and Being by G. Lynn Nelson. The book was recommended during a military seminar, but I dismissed journaling at the time. I’ve been pouring my heart into a journal for a little over two years, and from time to time I think I should have started decades ago. I guess we write about difficulties, struggles, and feelings when the heart is ready. Great post, Dr. Stein.
Thank you, Edward. I suppose one way of thinking about journaling is that is somewhat like confession in the Catholic Church. Whether we know it or not, it is needed in some form for most of us. Therapists and friends serve some part of that role, too. I am glad you found a place to speak openly but privately on paper.
You’re very welcome. You’re right, but I’m not sure a priest, therapist, or friend would want to hear my rambling for hours. So the notebook has its benefits, it doesn’t get tired of me. 😀