Some Quick Thoughts on Nostalgia
The word nostalgia comes from the Greek words “nostos” and “algos” and means something like “acute homesickness.” The word was, apparently, coined in the 17th century “to describe the anxieties displayed by Swiss mercenaries fighting away from home.” It has since evolved, however, to take on a broader definition which encompasses the dimension of time. We now use it to describe the feeling associated with both a place and, more crucially, a time in our lives. Nostalgia is the hopeless sense of trying to squeeze one’s self back into the toothpaste tube.
Some people revel in nostalgia. I hate it and do what I can to avoid it. Looking at old photos of myself is, for me, excruciating. My wife is the opposite. She loves to drag out photos of the kids when they were little or put on the little videos she made of them during baby bath time. I would rather pull my own teeth out. What explains the differences between people who enjoy subjecting themselves to nostalgia and those of us who find the experience torturous?
I don’t think it has anything to do with happy/sad memories. Both of us agree that looking back on our soapy kids splashing each other in the tub is a pleasant memory. Both of us have complicated feelings about our upbringings, which wouldn’t necessarily prod us towards revisiting those times. So why does she enjoy doing it and I don’t?
Trying to untangle my own pain about nostalgic, I think it’s got something to do with time’s ruthless, grinding gears. When I spend too much amount of time looking backwards, I feel myself in danger of losing an arm (or worse) to the machinery of mortality. It’s the same panic I get while driving a car too fast. Both activities involve passage - one hurtling forward, one back.
My aversion to nostalgia must also have to do with mortality, which is its own kind of passage. Our past selves seem so achingly alive and beautiful even though I know that I certainly didn’t feel that way about myself at the time. Maybe the pain is about regret. Why didn’t I experience that moment on the beach more fully? Why didn’t I appreciate messing around with my kids more when they still wanted to hang out with me? Why was I so incapable of appreciating those fleeting moments? Why am I incapable of appreciating them now? Better not to scrutinize the past too carefully, lest I find myself drowning in that regret.
So why can my wife relive those moments without the same panic? Without the same regret? I know her almost as well as I know myself and know how she feels about her own shortcomings, the things she wishes she could take back or do better. Why doesn’t nostalgia take as much flesh from her as it does from me? Why are some people able to walk in their own shadows without feeling cold?
I don’t know if there’s an answer. Maybe some people are just wired to crave nostalgia and some are not, the same way some people (me) enjoy the pain of spicy food and some (my wife) do not. There’s that old thought experiment – what would you choose to save if your house was burning down? I know my wife would go first for the photo boxes. But here’s the weird thing – in spite of the fact that I would never want to choose to open those boxes again - I would, too.
I'm so nostalgic sometimes it feels like a character flaw. But over time, I've realized that it's part of trying to understand myself. Why some decisions I was afraid to make ended up being good, and why others were darkly, hilariously bad. Example: When Dana and I got together 23 years ago this month, many things about the situation felt like we were both making a series of very bad decisions. Yet now they look like unexpectedly great ones, and I do a lot of mental rummaging around to try and figure out how I stumbled into a life I always wanted to have, (at least most of it; I'd still like to have a lot more money than I do). It's qualified, though. I have tons of nostalgia for my childhood and my family, and I still try to understand who I was in that context, but at the same time, losing two siblings and my mom has turned that sort of nostalgia into something I keep at arm's length.
So...I don't know. I'm okay with my tendency toward nostalgia and accept that it's just part of how I'm made, and there's a good side to it for me--gaining perspective on my life now. I think many people may be nostalgic for similar reasons--seeking understanding, context, self-knowledge, and insight. That said, with the deaths of loved ones and friends, going back to my best friend's death when I was 18, nostalgia becomes much more complex and even something I make a conscious effort to avoid, sometimes.
This is how I experience large extended family interactions. Everyone wants to reminisce and bathe in the memories, while I have no interest and in fact withdraw from the conversation. It’s unsettling.