Nostalgia. It’s the feeling you get when an old song comes on, and suddenly you’re thrown into a completely different version of you. Right now, it feels like nostalgia is everywhere. Social media is full of edits about the early 2010s, old TV shows are constantly being rebooted, and half of our Spotify playlists are titled something like songs that feel like summer 2016. Like, guys, let’s be real. I had a way-too-short bob and braces in 2016. I know for a fact those aren’t anything I feel any sort of warm sentimentality about.
For the first 18 years of my life, nostalgia existed in a neutral space. Not good nor bad. It was just… there. I never gave it a second thought. Nostalgia wasn’t mine to think about. Yet.
Once I was an “adult” (my family would use that term lightly), chasing my memories of the past for comfort became more common. Childhood and teenage years carry great memories for me. Slumber parties, playing with dolls in the back of the minivan, buying posters of Justin Bieber at the book fair to hang up in my bedroom (duh). Every generation cherishes childhood as a sacred and magical time, and it was due time for me to do the same.
But recently I’ve started wondering something that feels a little silly to admit: what if nostalgia can actually be a little dangerous?
I think nostalgia makes us feel so warm and fuzzy because it’s familiar. The past is something we’ve already battled and won. We know the outcome. In a world where everything feels scary and uncertain all the time, remembering a time we already lived through can feel safe. We trust the past. We trust the version of ourselves who made it through it. Good job past us! But let me break it to you. Comfort is tricky. It feels good, secure, healthy to stick around what you know. When, really, you’re stuck in the mud. Blinded by the fleeting feeling of safety when you’re actually only wasting time sinking in more.
Our memories are not exactly reliable. Our brains are not perfect record keepers. They’re a child’s scribble attempting to recreate a Van Gogh. Charming and joyous to look at, but definitely not the same.
When we look back at our past, we don’t usually see the full picture. We see the blurry highlight reel. The fun parts. The shining moments. Our brains smooth over the rough edges. Think about getting ice cream as a kid. You remember picking the flavor and the excitement of tasting that first bite. You probably don’t remember the scoop falling onto the pavement or the sticky hands afterward. Those parts fade.
Memory edits things. Nostalgia adds a filter.
Somewhat harmless. Maybe even a little sweet, as long as you don’t get stuck on it.
Nostalgia can quietly become a problem when it stops being something you visit occasionally and instead starts being somewhere you live.
When we spend too much time living in what once was, it becomes really easy to compare the present to a version of the past that was edited and softened. Holding the version of you now to a much higher bar. The past looks brighter than it actually was, and the present starts to feel like it can’t compete.
The best way I can describe the feeling of living in nostalgia is like sitting in a sinking car with your seatbelt still on. Seatbelts are good! Safe! Click it or ticket! But the water keeps rising. At some point, you have to unbuckle and swim out.
I’ve noticed this in my own life when I think about high school. I didn’t have the best experience. At the time, I remember feeling overwhelmed and emotionally drained. I didn’t know who I was, and I was letting myself down because of it. Don’t get me wrong, I had a few teachers who were my guardian angels (hi, Mrs. Klein and Ms. Trieschmann!) and a few great friends outside of school. Still, I couldn’t wait to graduate and move on. This is all well documented in all of my teenage diaries, trust me.
As the years pass, something … strange has started to happen. My memory is playing tricks on me. The good moments stay clear in my mind, almost magnified. But the bad parts are harder to place. I know they were there. I know there were days when I felt miserable. But I can’t always remember exactly why.
It’s not that the past changed. My perception of it did.
The same thing happens with us as people. It can feel safer in our minds to stay connected to a past version of who we were. Or at least who we thought we were. But in reality, clinging to the past too tightly can keep us stuck.
Sometime in the near future, go look at old pictures of yourself. Laugh at your younger self. Reminisce. I’m aware that’s the opposite of what this whole article is about. You’ll just have to trust me here.
You’ll probably feel a little bit of secondhand embarrassment. I did! I’d argue that if you feel that way looking back at pictures, you’re doing something right. You allowed yourself to grow into someone kinder, smarter, wiser. Credit where credit’s due, past me was a boss. She did the best she could with the tools she had at the time. Even if I’m extremely proud of her, she’s served her time. Gotta keep putting one foot in front of the other. This is a never-ending cycle, and I’m sure when I look back on who I was at 20, I’ll laugh (and cringe a little) then too.
Letting go of the past doesn’t mean erasing it. It just means recognizing that it isn’t the only place where good things can exist.
What’s even stranger is that we sometimes feel nostalgic for moments that barely happened that long ago. In college, especially, people are already nostalgic for high school, or even for freshman year, while they are still living through some of the most important (and fun!) years of their lives.
We get so caught up reminiscing that we forget we are actively living the memories we’ll probably look back on one day.
I’m not saying nostalgia is all bad. I still think it can be comforting and meaningful. It can remind us where we came from and who we used to be.
But lately I’ve started to realize that the past is easy to love because it can’t disappoint you anymore. But it’s boring. It’s done. It’s much more fun to create the memories you’ll be missing in a few years, and we can have this whole talk again then, too.
The present hasn’t been edited yet. It’s messy and unpredictable and unfinished and frightening. And that’s exactly why it deserves a little more of our attention. Give it a chance.