“It goes by so fast,” they wistfully whisper at me. In the grocery store. At the gas station. At the coffee shop. At the park. Pretty much everywhere.
Two things happened in tenth grade. 1. I reread Catcher in the Rye, probably for the sixth time. 2. I was asked to describe my least favorite emotion. It was the combination these two events that led to my revelation: Nostalgia can be a debilitating emotion.
Consider Catcher in the Rye. I have always argued that this novel is actually about the pitfalls of nostalgia. There’s a quote where Holden admits,
Anyway, I keep picturing all these little kids playing some games in this big field of rye and all. Thousands of little kids, and nobody’s around-nobody big, I mean-except me. And I’m standing on the edge of some crazy cliff. What I have to do, I have to catch everybody if they start to go over the cliff-I mean if they’re running and they don’t look where they’re going I have to come out from somewhere and catch them. That’s all I do all day. I’d just be the catcher in the rye and all. I know it’s crazy, but that’s the only thing I’d really like to be.
Most people believe this novel ends with Holden in a mental institution.
I ask you this: If Holden were a parent, would the novel have ended in the same way?
I mean, look at “Peter Pan,” friends who don’t want to celebrate their birthdays after a certain year, and the way society treats the elderly. Heck, in The Giver, one got to be of a certain age and that was it. No wonder Holden was trying to catch the kids.
Nostalgia is defined by dictionary.com as: “a wistful desire to return in thought or in fact to a former time in one’s life, to one’s home or homeland, or to one’ s family and friends; a sentimental yearning for the happiness of a former place or time.”
We often think of nostalgia in terms of a song on the radio that brings you back to prom, or an old photograph that reminds you of your college days. You spend a few minutes recollecting, acknowledge that you’re “so old!”, and then go back to reality. No real harm done. But nostalgia can be a major problem.
This occurs when you start worrying about a past that is still the future. For instance:
Remember back to when your child was a baby. How many people told you, “It goes by too quickly”? Ugh. It’s my least favorite comment. I’d much rather be chastised for not washing off Sophie when she falls to the floor, or be scolded for not having the baby in a hat, or hear one of the other various tidbits of advice people feel the need to spew. I’ll nod and smile and say, “Thank you.” But please don’t tell me “It goes by too quickly.” What, pray tell, is actually going “by”? Life? How do you respond to this comment? You smile, chuckle, maybe respond, “Yes it does,” and go on your merry way. But then later that week baby doesn’t fit into Outfit X anymore. And suddenly you find yourself wiping away the tears because your little baby is growing up. Then you might imagine your baby going off to school. Your baby going on his/her first date. Your baby going away to college. None of this has happened yet, and none of it should make you sad, but here you are shedding tears.
Why does growing up make us upset? Why do people act as if the baby stage is better than any other stage of life? The other day my mom and I had lunch. Nobody came over to her and sighed, “It goes by so fast!” What gives? Why do we have it in our minds that being a grown-up is a bad thing? Turning thirty, forty, fifty, sixty… I want to count my blessings that I’ve gotten to live another year, not get upset when I start to reach “the wrong side of thirty.”
I would like to toss out the idea that change is refreshing. I mean, consider the alternative… It is my opinion that nostalgia, and the attempt to hold on to the past, is hindering us. If we keep doing what’s “comfortable,” we will never grow, and it is growth and expansion that truly make us happy. Look at poor Holden. He couldn’t accept the idea of growing up and it led him to an existence riddled with anxiety and melancholy.
I’m new in town. I have been here less than a week, and I think I’ve already been told “It goes by so fast” about fifteen times so far. Not to say that this is any different from the East Coast, but I think people are more friendly here so they are more likely to make conversation at the grocery store, the gas station, the coffee shop, the park…
I know I’m being overly sensitive. Moving has put me in this giant nostalgia bubble. Our families are sad that we are no longer an hour drive away. I also find myself thinking of my house back in NJ, the house where we rode out Hurricane Sandy, came back to after our wedding, the house where we found out we were pregnant, the house my daughter came home to… now it’s being nitpicked by strangers. Even her little nursery that she barely had a chance to spend any time in! And I miss the beach. Yes, even in winter. Plus, it’s a challenge making friends when one isn’t currently working or in school; this is new territory to navigate for me and I need to figure it out. Being alone only gives me more time to reminisce and travel down the nostalgia rabbit hole.
So if you see me strolling my daughter down the street, definitely say hi! But please don’t tell me, “It goes by so fast.” Yes, my daughter is an awesome baby. But guess what? She is going to be an awesome toddler. She is also going to be an awesome child, ‘tween, and teenager. In fact, she is going to be an awesome adult. So please tell me, “Being a parent is awesome!”
