A friend and I recently spent the afternoon together sitting on a restaurant patio enjoying a glass of wine. We sat and chatted for some time. About twenty minutes into our conversation, I realized something.
Almost everything we talked about happened a decade or two ago.
Remember when we took that road trip?
Remember that party?
Remember when everyone was still alive?
Remember…
We laughed at the stories we’ve probably told each other dozens of times.
A welcome relief occurred when a DJ started playing songs from our teenage years. Something happened that only music seems capable of doing.
For the next few hours, we weren’t in our sixties anymore.
We were sixteen.
It’s funny how music can do that. A song begins, and suddenly you’re transported back to another place and another version of yourself. A place before mortgages, careers, children, grandchildren, doctor appointments, dental problems and retirement planning. Before grief. Before loss. Before a mountain of responsibilities piled up one after another.
I learned this while researching another post, but music, especially, is remarkable because it activates parts of the brain tied to autobiographical memory and emotion. A three-minute song can unlock memories that have been sitting quietly for decades. It’s why people with dementia can often remember every word to songs they learned as teenagers, even when they struggle to remember what they had for breakfast.
Hell, I remembered the name of the group and every lyric from one of the songs that came out fifty years ago! Yet can’t remember what I entered a room for only moments later!
Back then, our biggest problems were figuring out what to wear to the dance, hoping someone would ask us to dance, or wondering if our parents would let us stay out another hour.
At the time, we probably thought life was complicated. And to our teenage mind, it was. Looking back, while it wasn’t perfect for either of us, but it was definitely a lot simpler.
A week or so before, I had a similar experience at home. I was cleaning and found an old CD I hadn’t played in years. I turned the volume up and dusted to the rhythm.
For the next hour, I wasn’t thinking about bills or work or the endless list of things that needed my attention yesterday. The music carried me back almost fifty years to a time when the weight I carry today simply didn’t exist.
When the last song ended, I found myself wondering something.
Was that healthy?
Was I escaping?
Was I avoiding the present? Or was I simply giving myself a brief vacation from it?
Maybe for that hour, I was simply the girl who had her whole life in front of her. There’s something incredibly comforting about that.
But here’s where I think the distinction lies.
If we visit the past like tourists, it’s healthy. If we move in and refuse to come home, it’s not.
The past can be a wonderful place to visit. It reminds us who we’ve been, what we’ve survived, and what once brought us joy. But if every conversation begins with “Remember when…” and ends with wishing we could go back, nostalgia can quietly become dissatisfaction with the present.
It wasn’t just my conversation with this particular friend. The older I get, the more I notice how often conversations with lifelong friends drift backward instead of forward. We reminisce about people we’ve loved, places we’ve been, adventures we’ve had, and versions of ourselves that only exist in memory now.
It made me wonder if that’s what happens as we age. Do we spend more time looking in the rearview mirror because there are simply more miles behind us than ahead?
Curious, I did a little research.
It turns out nostalgia has gotten a bad reputation it might not completely deserve.
Psychologists have found that HEALTHY nostalgia can actually reduce stress, ease loneliness, strengthen our sense of identity, make us feel more connected to others, and remind us that we’ve lived meaningful lives. Looking back isn’t necessarily about wishing we could return. Often, it’s about remembering who we’ve been. It reminds us that we’ve experienced joy before, which can make us believe we’ll experience it again.
That’s different from living in the past.
There’s an important distinction.
Nostalgia says, “those were wonderful days.”
Rumination says, “those were my only wonderful days.”
Those are two very different emotional experiences. One leaves you feeling grateful. While the other leaves you feeling stuck and maybe a little depressed.
Did reminiscing leave me feeling grateful…or grieving?
Did I finish the afternoon smiling, feeling connected, and remembering how rich my life has been? If so, that’s probably emotionally healthy.
If it ended with me thinking, “Nothing good happens anymore,” that’s a sign nostalgia may have crossed into longing. If I’m being honest, for a few minutes, it felt more like the latter.
I realized the music wasn’t making me wish I were twenty again. Forty maybe, but not twenty! That said, I wouldn’t mind borrowing a little of that twenty-year-old spirit.
The optimism. The curiosity. The willingness to dance without worrying who was watching.
We all need moments of relief.
Some people lose themselves in a novel. Some binge a television series. Some spend an afternoon gardening. I lost myself in an Earth, Wind & Fire CD that day.
For an hour, my nervous system got a vacation. And I’m sure there’s nothing inherently unhealthy about that.
Maybe the healthiest form of nostalgia isn’t about wanting to go back. Maybe it’s about bringing something forward.
When a song reminds you how carefree you once felt, perhaps the lesson isn’t, “I wish I were twenty again.”
Perhaps it’s asking,
“How can I bring a little of that twenty-year-old spirit into my life today?”
Because while the past may remind us who we were, the present is still where we get to decide who we’re becoming.
Third Act Truth: Visit the past with gratitude. Live the present with purpose. Walk into the future with hope.
.
PLEASE READ ON BLOG. PLEASE SHARE!