Looking Back, Moving Forward

Often in our lives we reach a state of emptiness. We become weary and discontent with our life, with our world. It's as if we're in a lazy state of boredom, needing something, yet not motivated to identify it, let alone acquire it. This is when the dark nostalgia kicks in, the longing for things past. The devaluing of what you have now compared to what was once yours.

In many blogs I've lurked in the past few months, I recognized that dark nostalgia—the ennui, enough where any one blogger shouldn't feel I'm talking about him or her. There are a bunch of you out there, and I recognize that torture we put ourselves through, whether it's searching for someone to love, moving someplace new, or just not knowing what to do next.

All of us have gotten or will get into that state of immersive reclusion, the feeling that we are surrounded and alone. I remember those times personally, but they themselves are nostalgia for me. My life is often difficult and challenging, probably much like your own, yet I've come to own it and savor it and am fascinated by it. My life has times of happiness and sadness, and I relish them both.

I haven't had those moments of dark nostalgia for a while now. Writing, especially blogging, is one of the few times I actually spend thinking about the past. And I think I understand why. Our past, especially a fond memory, is defined by two specifics: the people involved and the novelty of the moment.

The first item, "the people," I didn't understand for a very long time. I spent much of my life trying to get away from people, away from crowds. Yet when I think about any fond memory I have, it is the people that made it special. I don't think I've ever started a story with, "There was this one time when I sat around my house all day by myself and ..." But we talk about situations like they have a life of their own. Metaphors are nice, but they can obscure reality; the life isn't in the event, it's in the people, and more specifically, the people that were special to you in that moment.

Just try to recall any significant event in your life and think about what was special about it; you'll find that in each case it was the people with you or around you that made it special. All of our "favorites" in life will most likely have people associated with them - your favorite food. Your favorite game. Your favorite movie. People define life and give it meaning, and our memories are special because of them.

The second item, "novelty," is easily forgotten. While not as strong as the people factor, novelty is still powerful in affecting our memories. Simply put, something new is memorable. We remember that date with the person that was different, that lunch at the new restaurant, and how wonderful that new movie was.

We often forget how special much of our daily lives are simply because it isn't new. We've seen the movie over a dozen times so it has lost some of its original appeal. But does it stop being great just because we are intimate with the film? With our boyfriend? With our food? We over-sensualize the things in our daily lives to the point where they bore us and we then find ourselves craving the novelty.

So what have I learned? For one, we need each other to give our lives meaning. I still like to go off into my own little world, but now I can stare at you in the eyes without blinking. I've learned not to eat Asian seven nights a week, to keep my sensuality fresh, to look at different pictures, to listen to different music, to taste different food. It is this variety that brings a freshness and comfort to the mundane.

You can return to that town you used to live in but the people are different and the novelty is gone. It wasn't the town, the movie theater, or the high school, it was the right people and the freshness that made it special. Fulfillment isn't found looking back and longing, it is in accepting new people and new situations. We grow old and die because otherwise, life would be a dull sensation that drives us all mad.