Nostalgia: Is it COVID or am I growing older?

Every 90s kid knows, the nostalgia is strong with us. Probably because everything that became popular in our childhood was quickly replaced with newer better technology. The world changed so quickly, our developing minds cope with it by infusing that sense of nostalgia and global digital group bonding so we don't lose ourselves in a nihilistic vortex. Perhaps an overcompensation of sentimentality so we don't numb out. At least that's the very unscientific theory I mull around in my mind.

In the throws of a global pandemic, as the world has slowed in some ways and life feels almost paused, I have found myself falling into moments of mega-nostalgia. The waves hit like a tsunami, and before I know it I'm in tears trying to explain this phenomenon to one very understanding friend via Marco Polo. 

It's a different kind of nostalgia than the ones I've experienced before. Or maybe it's just the most accurate manifestation of the word. It's not just the place or the people. That could be remedied by an eventual trip. It's a more temporal longing. It don't want to relive that time in my life per se. I wouldn't have done anything different. I don't want to go back. But I still miss it.

I miss my last 2 apartments with the mirrors and the fairy lights. With the windows and the space that was all mine. Even the space that was shared. I miss dancing in my living room surrounded by crystals and tarot cards. I miss the hiss of my record player, the warmth of my old speakers. I miss my folding bike. I miss the couch that belonged to my beloved ex partner and current friend. I miss the hauntings.

Weirdly specifically, I miss the Stumptown in the West Village. I miss those cobblestoned blocks and Washington Square Park. I miss biking over bridges toward Manhattan on some days, and Rockaway Beach on others. I miss meeting friends at Prospect Park, especially at night. There is a magic that sets in after dark. Or maybe it’s just the fireflies.

What does it mean to miss not just a person or a place or a time, but who a person was to you in a certain place and time and all the intersections of people, places and timing and relationships?

Life is constantly in flux, and the only thing we can hold onto is the knowing that it's all… temporary.

There’s another layer to this, too. I’m living a healthier and steadier life. I go to bed before midnight. I haven’t had a raging night of drinking that leads to partial blackout in at least 5 years. I’m making better choices. I like myself, and surround myself with people I like in return. 

But some of the nostalgia that paws at me is a more shadowy, mischievous, relish in my former self-destruction. There is something so delicious about the erratic melancholy that fueled a lot of nights out, and bouts of risky business.

I miss warehouse parties and kisses on the dance floor. The sparks of a new romance that would fade faster than a campfire. I even miss texting three guys in one night just to see who would respond, and taking up the quickest on their offer to meet up.

But all those things would feel different now. Some would still feel great, some are fully off the table for very good reason, but none would feel the same way they did when I was searching for something, thinking I found it, and starting over and over again.

And maybe miss is the wrong word. The longing feels more detached. Maybe it can only be described as nostalgia for my young adulthood. For a messy coming-of-age. Maybe that’s why we love those kinds of stories, because there’s something so fully alive about the time where we’re still “figuring it all out.”

So maybe it’s less about COVID and more about marriage. Or maybe it’s a sloppy stew of both. 

I’ve been dreaming about people from my past lately. Mostly high school and college folks, some of which I haven’t seen or spoken to in a decade or more. In one of them, I “black in” to an action. “Blacking in” refers to the experience of being black out drunk and then sobering up enough to be conscious of the present moment with no memory of how you arrived. In the dream, it was similar to a specific event my sophomore or junior year of college. I will spare you the details. My therapist suggested it might be a confirming dream. Maybe my brain is acknowledging that after all these years of sobriety, I’ve fully “blacked in” to life.

In the age of wokeness, and waking up… maybe we weren’t asleep. Maybe we were just blacked out. Maybe it’s good enough to just “black in” to reality.

Have you been nostalgic, lately? Have you “blacked in” to anything? Tell me about it!