Ephemeral

I’ve been thinking a lot about ephemeral, a word defined by most modern dictionaries as “lasting a very short time” or “short-lived.” My favorite of its definitions, though, is in this exchange between the little prince and the “geographer” in Antoine de Saint-Exupéry’s The Little Prince.

“But what does that mean– ‘ephemeral’?” repeated the little prince, who never in his life had let go of a question once he had asked it.

“It means, ‘which is in danger of speedy disappearance.'”

“Is my flower in danger of speedy disappearance?”

“Certainly it is.”

It’s the geographer’s use of “danger” that I especially relate to because it adds an urgency and poignancy to the meaning, implying that this fleeting thing is something we’d rather not see go. It helps me understand the melancholy I feel around nature sometimes, especially at its most breathtaking. In autumn, for example, when the earth’s colors take leave right in front of me, I’m always trying to capture it before it goes: that slant of golden sun through russet leaves; those black-tinged clouds darkening an already dramatic sunset. And I’m always struggling to describe that feeling. Wistful? Bittersweet? What is that ache that accompanies the awe?

I think that ache is recognition. I see you, brevity. I know you’re there.

Because really: What isn’t in danger of a speedy disappearance? It’s all relative, for sure, like that “blink of an eye” feeling at your daughter’s graduation; her childhood years long and then gone. The “life is short” lament when we hear of someone we’ve lost too soon. And even in the more reliable rhythms of nature—the reds and golds autumn after autumn; the sun rising and setting tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow—we can be suddenly struck by how brief our time is with these simple wonders. 

Of course I’m talking about our mortality here, but it's not all bleak. I mean, that wistfulness that comes with the realization of ephemerality—doesn’t it also hold gratitude? When we grasp that something is fleeting, when we taste that bittersweet elusiveness, we are valuing what’s in front of us; we are appreciating it, soaking it in, already missing it before it’s gone even for just that brief second of recognition.

But it doesn’t have to be for just that second. We can carry that recognition and gratitude with us well beyond the ephemeral experience itself—right up until the next one. Start looking and you’ll see ephemerality everywhere—in a shared meal around a table; in the carpet of gingko leaves marking the end of autumn; in tonight’s cloud-heavy sunset. And while those things can make a speedy disappearance, the thankfulness we feel for their presence in our lives can be anything but short-lived.

(Also posted to my photography website.)