The First Time

No one can possibly know what is about to happen: it is happening, each time, for the first time, for the only time. James Baldwin

NOTHING stirs the senses more than it does when we experience something for the very first time.

The surge of emotion is often uncontrollable – like waves rushing towards the shore or a dam bursting without warning. At times, it is absolutely inscrutable – was it rapture or anxiety? Giddiness or restlessness? Agony or ecstasy? Will-o’-the-wisp or merry-go-round?

Other times, it is rather nerve-wracking – like a fear of the unknown, a walk to the dark side, a daring leap of faith or a cruel twist of fate. But mostly, it is perfectly indescribable – because how does one put into words what it feels to fall in love for the first time?

First love – wasn’t it the most pleasant ache we ever had to endure? The hardest of all feelings to forget, one that we like to reminisce upon, because it never really dies? It never completely fades away?

It made us walk on air or drove us to despair. It brought us near the edge of reason and took us to the limits of our imagination. It led us to long stretches of bizarre posturing and gleeful meanderings. Music played all day long in our head, and we constantly smelled blossoms even if the trees were bare.

And the first time we laid eyes on the love of our life, we couldn’t help staring. The earth moved from under our feet, and we stopped breathing. Much like the first time we suffered heartbreak. We couldn’t eat, we couldn’t sleep, we couldn’t think right if it was at all possible to think. We sulked, we grieved, we didn’t want to live – until the next heartache came along.

The first kiss? There was thunder and lightning, fire and brimstone all around. Clammy hands, weak knees, cold feet – a strange, tingling sensation that left us delightfully bewildered, carrying us to that enchanted kingdom up in the blue called Cloud Nine. We never really knew what hit us, did we, because all we could only think about was, would the feeling be the same the second time around?

The first moment we beheld our first-born, we felt certain there was indeed a Supreme Being; a God who makes all things not just bright and beautiful, wise and wonderful, but who allows us mere mortals to be part of the grand miracle of Creation. That we could bring forth into this world a tiny living thing – fruit of our loom, labor of our love – is a reality that is difficult to fathom, much less put in plain words.

Seeing them beside us, we were swathed in a torrent of thoughts and emotions, overwhelming us in their complexity and significance. Right there and then, we knew our life took on a new dimension, a new direction, a new meaning – essentially different from the way things were when we only had ourselves to think of and live for.

Back when we landed our first job, we became the full-fledged adults we were supposed to be. Whether we were ready for it or not, a whole new world unfolded before us – big and intimidating, bold and frightening, brave and unforgiving; but also beautiful and nurturing, allowing us to strengthen our body somehow, to grow our mind a bit and to deepen our soul a little.

We were the new kid in town shrinking under the glare of hostile eyes; a babe in the woods venturing into a den of lions and wolves; or the geeky youngster who couldn’t do anything right – until we lived up to expectations, and exceeded them at times.

Then, when we received our first pay envelope, we wanted to paint the town red, treat the special persons in our lives to a feast, savor the sweet taste of honest toil and just splurge. The satisfaction one gets from being able to earn one’s own keep finally sank in our middling consciousness and a fresh sense of independence and self-confidence enveloped our being.

Not so unlike the day we first learned how to drive a car. We were thrilled at the idea of being in control of something bigger, more complicated, more powerful. Learning a new skill filled us with a certain feeling of exhilaration, a heightened awareness for what lies ahead, a greater tolerance for the quirks and idiosyncracies of others.

What of the first time we took a plane ride – the nearest thing we could ever get to being able to fly and touching the sky. We sat by the window so we could gawk and gawk at the sunbeams peering from clouds hovering beneath us, or at the strands of pearls strewn over an enormous canopy of green farther down below.

The nightscape was even more dazzling – with streaks of light flickering like fireflies from a distance, and the moon’s majestic glow radiating a certain calmness that at once numbs the soul. We felt like swooning at the splendor we don’t see everyday – not from where we are perched on the ground, taking for granted all the loveliness that man, nature and machine combined can create, perhaps inadvertently so.

Or when we first sailed the open seas on a ship. The earth never looked so vast and infinite, so unbelievably breathtaking, nevertheless humbling and just plain overwhelming. The ocean’s immensity made our spirit rise from the jumbled mesh of disbelief and apathy that we invariably cast at the wonders all around us, and we could no more than ask ourselves, where did all that foamy brine come from?

Leaving our comfort zone for the first time to face the uncertainty of the realm outside was akin to letting go of the security blanket that protected us when we needed to feel safe; like going out of our mother’s womb, or being born again. Much the same way as breaking a habit, mostly bad, that is synonymous to what we are as an individual. Weaning ourselves from smoking one pack a day, drinking alcohol to excess, sucking our thumb from when we were babies, clutching at an unhappy relationship involved a tremendous amount of political will, so to speak.

And the first time we ever tasted failure, defeat or loss, we thought the whole universe caved in on us. We blamed everything and everyone but ourselves, pointing a finger at the object of our anger and the cause of our despair. We wallowed in fits of self-pity and denial for long, unproductive periods – until we gathered enough courage to pick up the pieces and start anew.

The little things that we did for the first time are the things that defined our character and shaped our personality – flying a kite, climbing a tree, reading a good book, having our most precious possession, passing a test, getting a degree, traveling to foreign places, writing a letter, meeting a soul mate, falling in love. Little things that we can go through over and over again, making believe it is the very first time.