Nostalgia; a feeling that has piqued my curiosity. It’s defined as a sentimental longing for the past, for “how things were.” Nostalgia is inherent; all humans have a tendency to recall bittersweet memories. Nostalgia is a vice; it makes us believe that the past was better, that the present is inferior, and that the future always holds room for hardship.
For weeks, I have been reminiscing on past summer memories; laying by the pool, tanning on the beach, long car rides with the windows down, water skiing, tubing, swimming in lakes, staying at my ocean-side camp, and any other respective cliché summer occurrences.
This summer, I’m living in a completely new state with completely new friends, trying to make completely new memories. I can’t help but officially recognize that I’m no longer that teenage girl who spent careless hours in the sun. I’m becoming an adult, I’m trying to establish myself.
And nostalgia is making it bloody difficult.
Yes, life would be easier if I stayed home this summer. I wouldn’t miss my family as much, I could go on my beloved five-mile runs alongside vacant fields, I could spoil myself with Whole Foods and Kombucha more frequently, I could cook and bake until my fingers fell off, I could take art classes at the local art school, and I could spend a week isolated at my family camp. But then, I consider the consequence of all that.
I’ll stop learning, I’ll stop growing, I’ll stay frozen in my comfort zone. Why would I want that?
