After becoming an adult, which happened around about four years ago when I started to get paid for my time and presence, I never again had the amount of time you can dedicate to just daydream about old times. You know, listen to the songs you used to hear in high school, reread the poems you used to write, remember who you were and why you did the things you did.
It’s great to find patterns, sometimes negative ones, sometimes ones that make you see what your personality is like. I find it therapeutical, healing and productive to reflect on the past. It’s a kind of nostalgia that won’t hinder your progress – which happens when we’re depressed or unhappy with life – it will, if you approach it as a psychoanalyst, show you the positive tendencies and the negative tendencies you have had throughout time.
But recalling old times is like tasting an old dessert your grandma used to cook, or feeling the scent of an old fragrance that was attached to a specific winter time, or flip through that photo album from your ten year-old birthday party. It can be absolutely unproductive and just serve the purpose of being delightful. There’s a romanticism attached to it that can only happen when you’re completely available like you used to be when you were nineteen and unemployed.
I don’t mind sounding like an old lady. Remembering the past actually gives me life. Specially these days, with the pressure to always be productive, it doesn’t seem like lost time to me. It’s a much needed delight, a feeling of comfort and pleasure, something that’s quite natural to me, in this moment of my life.