Nostalgia creeps in like the cold of winter. Slow at first, then one day the icy wall shows up with full force, impossible to ignore. Returning to the places of my past deeply moves me each time I return, regardless of how much time spent away. The formable years of my youth are visible everywhere. I see ghosts of my previous selves play out before me like a movie. A faded version of myself sits in a cafe window during my senior year, leaving school early to dream in my journal. I see myself again laying in a field, watching old men spend hours flying their little remote control planes in the sky, myself wondering if this ritual was quelling a deep unsatisfied desire to become pilots themselves. Little boys turned men who dream of the clouds all their lives. As I drive, I see myself cruising down the backroads far too fast with the music far too loud. In the passenger seat I see a myriad of people, all their faces frozen in shared youth. Very few of them I have gotten to see mature - standing a little straighter, thinking a moment more before speaking, and their presence clearer as a result of a strengthening self-identity. No, most are preserved in my mind as orbs of unbridled energy, forever turbulent but incredibly charming beings of adolescence. I think I prefer them this way. For in this form, they work to keep my childhood memories intact as time works to wear them away.
As I indulge these moments of nostalgia, I see the immense power this feeling has over me. Nostalgia is like a drug, the more time you spend with it the more addictive it becomes. It puts one into an altered headspace where half of the self is in the present, and half is in the past. This straddle results in the self not being anywhere quite really. Half-presence is just as good as none. On occasion, nostalgia is a component of what makes life dynamic and colorful. Without it, we could not take joy in our memories or derive meaning and lessons from them. However, sink too deeply into this dreamy space, and one can lose touch with reality. Here comes the importance of finding a crucial balance between nostalgia and reality. With immense power comes the needed consciousness to separate dreams from actuality.
One vivid memory I have in particular is lying in my backyard and listening to the leaves rattle in the wind. This is a simple but poignant memory for me. I would feel the weight of my body pressing into the grass, and imagine the force of gravity hugging me closer to the earth as if the earth needed me just as I found I needed it. This is when I would think with uninhibited freedom. Thoughts would come to my head whether it be problems I was having, decisions I needed to make, or joys I wanted to linger on. As I laid, I believed that the wind through the trees was nature’s response to my thoughts. It was like I had another being to help guide me and listen but the earth was so much larger than a being. I had plenty of support in my life, but these moments of wordless connection left me feeling completely clear-minded. You can never be certain, but I do not think the trees were speaking to me. What I do think was happening was that I found a place lacking excessive stimulation which allowed me to truly listen to myself. I felt so much comfort and clarity because I accidentally stumbled into a mediation of sorts where my own voice could be heard. In a world of so much stimulation, we rarely have these moments of peace where we can connect to ourselves in the most intimate of ways.
This memory sticks out as a catalyst that moved my life to direct me to where I am today. I still turn to the natural world to find peace and clarity. Many make the mistake of thinking that nature’s healing properties come from something external, but rather it is the power of our surrounding environment to allow us to sink deeper into connection with both reality and our own selves. These kinds of nostalgic memories are ones that fill me with peace and comfort.
Sometimes thinking about “what was” can take a more negative turn. Ghosts of the past can freeze one in time, but in an unpleasant way. For me, oftentimes these ghosts are too blurry to see, but the feeling remains clear and distinct. My mother recently shared with me from her reading that older folks struggling with dementia and/or Alzheimer's often don’t remember the particular act or event, but they remember how it made them feel. As our memories get more vague, I think that the same applies to non-memory-impaired people as well, given enough time. A feeling without a memory is similar to love at first sight, or oppositely when you get a bad gut feeling about someone before truly meeting them. It is an inexplicable deep emotion that feels quite human, dare I say animalistic.
With nostalgia, emotions are at the forefront of the experience, and with strong emotions comes again this need for balance, regulation. Every aspect of our lives function best when we return to equilibrium. Everyone finds balance in various ways - I find mine by spending time by myself in nature. Indulge in all the pieces that make life dynamic, but never get stuck in one of them for too long. Spend too much time on “what was”, and you will completely miss out on more moments in the present that are constantly slipping away to join the past.
I sit in the spot that I sat in years ago. I look up to the trees and I feel the same connection I did with the wind that I once did. These are the trees that guided me through my influential years, but I have sat in many forests since, and I have felt that same feeling. The wind will rattle leaves wherever I go, even the juniper in the desert. What I carry with me are the lessons I have learned from the past, for those are what nurture my present.
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