I dwell on the past quite a bit, probably more than the average person. There’s something so aching about the fact that we can never go back in time. Every laugh or cry or moment is permanently behind us, yet we wake up every morning and life goes on as usual. That’s because if we remembered every minuscule detail of everyday, our brains would exceed capacity and we’d basically all be dead, or at least brain dead. Yet driving past my high school physically pains me, not because I particularly hated it or loved it, but because there was a version of me attending that building every morning that I will never get back. She walked to school every day listening to a particular playlist that to this day makes me yearn for just one more walk to school. I am amazed with how powerful nostalgia can be; despite being home, I drown in a feeling of homesickness.
Now reminiscing can be healthy in moderate doses. Browsing through old photo albums or looking through my junk drawer with years of bus tickets and dead rose petals can both make me sentimental in a happy way. However, I almost seek solace in reconciling with old friends, reminiscing on crying in the LCBO on my 19th birthday, or thinking about the day I first broke in my Doc Martins. Seeking comfort in the feeling ensued by nostalgia is inimitable. The best way I can put it is that it’s bittersweet. Now I wouldn’t trade my independence for most things, but I would be willing to offer it for my childhood. I would cherish the lack of responsibility and ‘unseriousness’ of life. But would going back and cherishing those factors make it all the less special? Maybe the special aspect of nostalgia is that fact that we were present and didn’t know what lied ahead. At least that’s what I try to reiterate when I catch myself sulking after smelling my twelfth-grade perfume (Chloè Eau de Parfum is so near and dear to my heart).
Do you ever notice why a particular smell evokes such strong feelings of nostalgia that you can’t quite place your finger on? All smells are processed in our olfactory bulb with a direct path to the amygdala, which, for simplicity, processes emotions and fear, and the hippocampus which is associated with memory. There is an immediate pathway between senses and emotions. Our everyday life is attached to us, and our anatomy reflects just that. Â
My graduation photo is still in the plaque for the class of 2022 and a new graduating class will soon be adjacent. My name is still carved into a desk in calculus class and four years’ worth of memories alongside it despite my memory being the only witness. You can never leave without a trace. So, nostalgia isn’t so bad after all, you exist in areas where you aren’t even present. As I come home every day after class, I notice traces of the person I was this morning. I’m 7 hours older and have aged in ways I won’t notice until the semester ends. I exist outside of my presence: q-tips with old mascara, lipstick stains on my coffee mugs, my tiny tops I was contemplating wearing today spilling out of my drawer.
So yes, the tree did make a sound when it fell in an empty forest. It echoed and the ground shook and birds flew away. I exist in places I am not present anymore, and I have to be okay with that. Instead of mourning the person I once was, it should be the idea of nostalgia that makes going about my day bearable. When life is hard, we look back at moments fondly instead of remembering the negative feelings evoked, because why else would we look back to begin with? So no, nostalgia is not a vice I seek for when I’m feeling like mourning the past, but it is the angel on my shoulder when I need a reminder that life can be good, almost good enough to dwell on.
