A Proper Dose of Nostalgia

I must say that I find myself missing people (and my beagle). I know that I am the type of person who is, and presumably will always be, fixated with the past. With retro things. With memories that others have long forgotten. With old photos, with the way we laughed then, with stories and songs I probably should have let go of a long time ago. It feels strange to me how much things can change decade to decade. 

And then, at the same time, there is something so magical about the present.

Because this place I'm in right now, this moment - these are the days I will long for when I get nostalgic in the future. So does it make sense to say that I always feel nostalgic? Even for moments I'm living in presently? Because I know that one day, these moments will fade out into memories, too. And I just wish sometimes that everything could stay the same and change all at once. That we could have both. 

But we can't, and that's ok.

That's the way that this was set up. If nothing moves forward, we can't meet new people, make new friends, sing new songs. And what would be the fun in that? Though I am always going to carry around these colors and these places and faces, they are a part of me, even if no one else knows it. Even if the people who are long gone never realize that they still walk with me, in the form of songs and stories and smiles remembered. You know, sometimes I dream about buying the old cottage that served as the backdrop to my sixth and seventh grade summers, and just living there forever. Even if it won't bring the memories back to life.

Even so, I will rejoice in - and hope for - the new.

Because at one point, everything in life was new. The best friends you have made, the coffee shops you frequent, even the music you listen to - there was a first meeting, a first finding, a first listen. So I can't be afraid of firsts. That's life.

I remember when I was so terrified of starting college.

On my first day, seven falls ago, I was literally shaking, trembling beneath the straps of my olive green backpack as I snuck into the back of my Creative Writing class. And now, all these years later, I am working full-time at the very university I attended as a worried little freshman. Students return to campus come Monday, and it just blows my mind. How could that have been me, not so long ago?

It makes me wonder, where will I be in another seven years?

Still working at the university? Working somewhere else? I guess I just don't know. Gosh, I'm glad I don't. If I knew in 2012 that I would be working in higher ed one day, I would have been so scared. I wouldn't have understood. How could I have? So, I guess I need to just let go. Which I'm not good at. Is anyone?

There's this Alvvays song that I love, "In Undertow," that is kind of the song of my spirit, and has been for a long time.

"Time to let go. There's no turning back." I think I've been afraid to let go and let God, to borrow a tired expression. Because the past is so good. The past is safe, it's what I know. The future is the thing with teeth - the great, big unknown.

In a couple of weeks, I will turn 26.

I remembered the other day that, tucked into the pages of one of my (many) old journals, I wrote a letter to myself. A letter for Erin at 26 to read, written by Erin at 21. Strange! I wonder what it says? I'm looking forward to opening it. She probably doesn't know what she's talking about, but I'm glad she chose to write. Maybe if I'm feeling brave, I'll post a snippet of it here. It's just odd to me how time passes. I'll have to write myself another letter to be opened in the future, once I do turn 26. Because I want to remember who I was, in this moment, right now.

Keep on,

E