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So there's a great essay written by Sigmund Freud called
"On Transience."
And in it, he cites a conversation
that he had with the poet, Rilke,
as they were walking along this beautiful garden.
And at one point, Rilke looked like he was about to tear up.
And Freud said, what's wrong?
It's a beautiful day.
There's beautiful plants around us.
This is magnificent.
And then Rilke says, well, I can't get over the fact
that one day all of this is going to die.
All these trees, all these plants,
all this life is going to decay.
Everything dissolves in meaninglessness
when you think about the fact that impermanence
is a really real thing.
Perhaps the greatest existential bummer of all is entropy.
And I was really struck by this, because perhaps that's
why, when we're in love, we're also kind of sad.
There's a sadness to the ecstasy.
Beautiful things sometimes can make us a little sad.
And it's because what they hint at
is the exception, a vision of something
more, a vision of a hidden door, a rabbit
hole to fall through, but a temporary one.
And I think, ultimately, that is the tragedy.
That is why love simultaneously fills us with melancholy.
That's why sometimes I feel nostalgic over something
I haven't lost yet, because I see its transience.
And so how does one respond to this?
Do we love harder?
Do we squeeze tighter?
Or do we embrace the Buddhist creed of no attachment?
Do we pretend not to care that everything and everyone we know
is going to be taken away from us?
And I don't know if I can accept that.
I think I more side with the Dylan Thomas quote that says,
I will not go quietly into that good night,
but instead rage against the dying of the light.
I think that we defy entropy and impermanence
with our films and our poems.
I think we hold onto each other a little harder and say,
I will not let go.
I do not accept the ephemeral nature of this moment.
I'm going to extend it forever.
Or at least I'm going to try.
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