A Not-Yet-Man’s Musings on Nostalgia

When I think of the past, community first comes to mind. There wasn’t a single weekday or weekend where the basketball wasn’t loudly banging against the concrete of the blacktop, or where I wasn’t coping with my 263rd Mario Kart loss in a row. If not that, then I was playing aggressively in Catan or struggling in Dominion. Now, I look back at my life then and see that none of these experiences were without their struggles. I remember getting frustrated with certain people I played with rose-tinted glasses, but I do remember being angered over losing yet another game. I wondered to myself, why do I keep losing and failing and losing and failing? I would cry in the shower, and yet I would come back every time. Because in spite of those pains, I genuinely enjoyed playing. There was a joy in the humor and bond between my family and our then-next-door neighbors, and that bond lasts to this day (in fact, we visited them yesterday - it went fantastic). I genuinely enjoyed the moments where I would get hot and play really well, as they more than made up for the fact in my head that I’m really not as good as some of the people I’ve played with, and that’s okay. I enjoyed playing Catan and Dominion and the beauty of those games themselves. In fact, despite being absolutely terrible at Dominion, I did win once - and made a whole new list of special cards that changed the entire way we played (albeit this happened for one game, but it still felt really cool). The point is, in spite of my losing, frustration, overcompetitiveness, and lack of skill in multiple departments, the community and joy I got from playing made me go back every single time. There was love here between our respective households, and it’s the reason we spent so much time together.

But that was just my home life then. At my middle school, there wasn’t a day where I wasn’t surrounded by the joy and community of others. I would play basketball and self-inbound the ball to myself, always being the first to run to the rack and get a good one before we played. Despite getting frustrated with my intermittent exclusion due to matchup inequities (i.e. I’d make the game a 6 v. 5 despite wanting to join, so it wouldn’t be even), and other sorts of anger, I loved playing. I loved the feeling of watching someone else heat up from halfcourt. I loved the game of basketball despite being far from the strongest player mentally, physically, or in any department besides the loads of information my brain had then (and still does now) about the game’s history.

Of course, all this could appear reductive - this positive description ignores the many times I cried, argued, or disagreed with others who wouldn’t listen to my pains. And it certainly is - because I would not feel gratitude towards a situation this flawed if not for nostalgia. In fact, I still find it hard to accept that concept of appreciating the flawed, no matter how much it may give you, it can still take so much from you and there’s nothing you can do about that. However, it is also due to the fact that my life is far different now from what it was back then that I appreciate the best parts of it more and feel grateful for that now.

But, at the very start of my sophomore year, these neighbors moved out. We’ve met up with them multiple times since, but my social life was altered entirely, albeit very gradually. My social circle was starting to change, and my life gradually became more and more geared towards academics and personal interests. And while I didn’t feel it then, that sense of community was slowly slipping away. The days of playing basketball with 15 other kids at middle school? Long gone. The days of going over to our neighbors’ house on the weekend and playing a board or video game? Long gone. The days of calling for a screen, laughter, in-group humor? Long gone. The days of that community? Certainly long gone. This shift happened very gradually. I wasn’t in love with the excitement of playing anymore. Instead, new hobbies came in replacement in a very transitional, gray, and dark period in my life. I was changing for the better in certain ways, but that part of my life had now gone missing. I wasn’t engaging with my social life nearly as often as I used to, and that was replaced with more questionable ones, both in-person and online, which I have moved away from since I realized my values more.

A year passes, and I meet a close friend who I didn’t take very long to bond with in a class that I begged my parents to let me sign up for. Nevertheless, I still struggled socially with cliques, insecurity, and other mental health problems. Community was still absent in my life then, and it has taken a long time for that to recover to the point where it happened senior year. This year, I’ve been able to have the best community with other friends that I’ve had in a long time, with healthier social connections and engagements, as well as outlets should I not feel so great.

It’s the community that means so much to me - I think of the beauty of constantly having such a large social circle while not having to put in an immense amount of social effort as an autistic dude myself. Remember, anyone can plan anything, but a strong bond between people is hardly ever planned in life. Catan involved phrases like “yeet the wheat” becoming commonplace, or a certain neighbor winning every time we played. Watching a kid who wasn’t the best at basketball heat up, or someone’s trash-talk getting absolutely destroyed was hilarious. Mario Kart and 3D World, two games I was absolutely horrendous at, were fun as I tried to avoid finishing last. No matter what I was doing, no matter how well I was doing it, I would have a great experience.

In other words, community wasn’t just the presence of people. It was the experience of struggling to bring a basketball to school before class started, trying to retrieve one as it went out the gate. It was the experience of a close game where every shot mattered. It was the satisfaction of slang, the stresslessness of the moment. It was everything - whether it be a terrible or great day, it meant everything.

So, when I think of nostalgia, it’s that community. As high school and our lives progress, especially in the pro-isolation, capitalistic, and car-centric culture and infrastructure of America, we lose that childhood sense of community unless we put in the effort to preserve them. Our social structures don’t hold us up anymore - they leave us hanging as we try to figure out how to adapt in this world. Nostalgia is not just that feeling of community though, it is the blissful experience of childhood: absorbing the stupidity and humor of our favorite TV shows, relating to fictional characters if we are lucky enough to, bonding with interests and people, and living as life was meant to be lived. It is the friends I miss every day from my childhood. It is the mediocre Disney shows I watched with my younger brother in mutual bonding and mutual disagreement. It is the lack of loneliness and seamlessness in life that seems so absent as we grow up. Yes, I’d argue, yes, I’d squabble, but I was never alone.

Nostalgia is not just all of that though, it is also the feeling of constantly wanting to go back to simplicity and curiosity when the grim realities of the world become revealed to you. It is wanting the beauty of your childhood to be revealed to you again before it gets swept out from the rug under you that you just can’t quite see. It is missing that one thing that you won’t see anymore, that one close and best friend who moved out. It is loss, and while some of it is looking back at things through those rose tinted glasses, the beautiful memories that can form during our lives are undeniable, especially in times where the stress inflicted on us is significantly lower. It is wanting to go back to those things and friendships that you just “don’t have the time for” because our lives have been stocked with so much business that we’ve forgotten how to just be kids and live our lives.

As I think of nostalgia now, it comes with an aching pain to my heart. It comes with so many feelings that I know I’ll never get back, such as the consistent Catan gameplay on weekends with neighbors, or the full court hooping on middle school blacktops. But I encourage us all to talk to that old friend, to make those new experiences. Take that day to enjoy the time that the world makes you forget to enjoy. Make it fun. Make it with the people you love. Make it memorable for everyone involved. Because there is no greater joy than the joy that we can get from each other. No matter how satisfying anything else may seem, nothing can replace that community, its love, its language, and its strength.

Overall, nostalgia may be unavoidable, and the memories of our past aren’t coming back anytime soon. However, let us create new nostalgia so that we’re not just harboring on the glory of the past - rather, we’re creating new amazing experiences that will last into our futures forever.