The Lego thing from a couple days ago has put me in a seriously nostalgic mood. It’s a funny little thing, nostalgia. A lot people are immersed in it for life and simply don’t want to let go of the past. They evidently reached a point in their lives where they found where the zenith of their comfort lies and they just don’t want stray from there. Ever. The problem one runs into, however, is that they fall victim to living in the past and missing out on the present. Rather than embrace the exciting world of the unknown, they clutch desperately to the world of the familiar. Again, I completely understand why. It’s warm. It’s safe. Everything was fun, and every day was an adventure. Most of all, it was pure.
Do a Google search on anything from your childhood. Anything. Pop culture, music, TV shows, etc., and you’re guaranteed to find either a little blurb on it somewhere, or an entire website dedicated to it. I’m 100% guilty of doing a search on games or toys of my childhood, finding them on Ebay, and wanting to buy them all right on the spot. The novelty of having them “back in my life” would wear off eventually, and then I’m stuck with several closets’ full of old games that I’ll probably never play again. How many times would I look at the box for “Lincoln Logs” before it no longer triggered memories of playing with it with my grandfather? Or “Mousetrap”? “Toss Across (insert Beavis laugh here)”?
It’s the same thing with the Legos. The internet is a mixed blessing. I’ve said many times during conversations over the years, “Man, I used to LOVE Legos”, and the conversations never went any further. Unbeknownst to me, there are legions of fan sites out there for them. And, total nerd that I am, I downloaded pictures of all the sets I used to have (22 of ‘em, thankyouverymuch). Ebay revealed many an old set to be had as well. My gut reaction, of course, was to be the highest bidder at any cost. Fortunately, my more practical side prevailed. Actually, the moths in my wallet make a great case all on their own.
Nostalgia creeps up on us through any of our senses. The smell of Agree shampoo (do they still make that?) reminds me of being a little kid and going to the boardwalk with my Aunt Lilu. The smell of hot tar, salt, and ozone also remind me of the boardwalk. I’d have to say that smell and hearing are the two biggest triggers for me. If I hear a song from before 1996, I can pretty much tell you exactly where I was the first time I heard it and who I was with. After ’96, I don’t know what happened. It’s as if I simply stopped absorbing anything anymore. The triggers just stopped happening. Swearing off radio around that time (more on that in later posts) helped a lot in that too, I’m sure, but I think I was struck with what most people well out of their teens get hit with: distractions. Now that you have to concentrate on things like keeping a roof over your head, staying out of trouble, finding the one you want to spend the rest of your life with, landing the dream career, your slowing metabolism, etc., some of the memory receptors become dulled. It’s sad, really. But that’s where nostalgia comes in. You get to reconnect with the things that brought you joy, even if only on a superficial or visceral level.
However, there’s a reason all those games and toys you had as a kid are gone -- you got bored with them. Having them now won't necessarily make you appreciate them more. When capitalized upon, nostalgia is in danger of becoming worn out. I now have compilations, BIG ones, of all the songs I listened to growing up. With each song I found, I got re-energized and just reveled in the flood of memories and emotions that washed over me. Problem is, I listen(ed) to them too much. So now when Planet P comes on, I’m not thinking of the first time I saw the video on MTV (still in its infancy in '82), and how it was thew coolest thing ever. No, now I think of...nothing. When I hear “Cool Night”, I’m not thinking of the frustrations of unrequited love I had for Sandra Lundquist in third grade. Nope, now I’m thinking “I wonder if Paul Davis survived the music business and what kind of pointers he’d have for me...”
Pfft. Way to nurture a memory.
I’m fortunate in that I had an incredible childhood. I have a loving family and wanted for absolutely nothing. I’m lucky to even *have* something to feel nostalgic for. For example, those four years we lived in Pennsylvania, it seemed like the sun was shining virtually every day, and the winters were something to be enjoyed rather than dreaded. But I realize now that it could have been anywhere. The security one gets when basking in a nostalgic rush can be applied to any time, even as recently as a week ago.
I’m glad that it’s impossible to ever “go back”. It will never be the same. And if you could, then what? You’d have memories of what, memories? I tried it once. I went to visit my old stomping grounds in Pennsylvania a couple years after I moved to upstate New York. Within two years, the population seemed to double, strip malls sprung up every ¼ mile, all my friends suddenly had protruding Adam’s apples, and I even got lost. I only got to visit for a day, but that 24 hours ruined the frozen images I had of my now completely different friends. Going to see my best friend Deron that day was just surreal. Whereas we never left each other’s shadow the whole time I lived there (I'm pretty sure we were telekinetic, too), there was suddenly a two-year gap that neither of us could account for. Physiologically and experience-wise we were two completely different people. I also learned that when you move from somewhere, the mover is the one who holds all the memories. Time just stops. But for the people who stay, time just keeps rolling right along. So, be careful what you wish for. Worry less about what was and concentrate on what is. Do it right and maybe you'll be able to reflect on it with equal fondness. Or, to quote a Mr. William Joel,
"The Good Ol' Days weren't always good, and tomorrow ain't as bad as it seems."
Now, I wonder if my mother still has my canvas bag o' Legos...
Ciao for niao.
When I was about 11, I was on the boardwalk (as I was every summer), just strolling along (as I also did every summer). I was walking past one of those free-standing spinning wheel-type games planted in the middle of the boardwalk, the ones where you could “win” an oversized stuffed animal (whoever heard of a sherbet orange elephant?) that you spent the rest of your life trying to find a place for.
