Reading a good book reminds me of this. First, I find joy in the experience. But soon after, there is sadness because I know that the joy I experience is finite, bounded. Perhaps this is the price of a mindful existence? If mindfulness provides us with a fuller experience, it also provides us with a fuller understanding. By enabling us to better notice what we gain, it also enables us to better notice what is lost. Each new moment is both a treasure and a treasure forfeited.
This is reading’s sorrow, and, I suppose, the true sorrow of life; we inhabit each moment only once.