I’ve written a previous blog post about how much I loathe nostalgia. This post is about…loving it?
As I write this, I’m sitting alone on a Manhattan rooftop, overlooking the East River, the Chrysler Building, and a collection of the most beautiful water towers and hidden rooftops sprinkled in between.
It’s the first warm, sunny morning of the year, and I’m indulging in every second of it.
It’s Friday and I’m 16 years old, which means that I’m meeting my buddies at Richie’s.
Richie’s was our refuge, a large-ish Bodega with four old-school arcade cabinets, and the best Burger my young and inexperienced self had ever tasted. I’d go there every day after school, but Friday was special, because the whole group of my childhood friends would get together and play Magic the Gathering.
Richie’s was a staple of my teenage years. It was our meeting spot and our escape for nearly a decade.
Then one day, Richie closed shop, and suddenly we all became adults. That thread of our childhood was abruptly clipped. All that was left were half-forgotten nostalgic memories, and a hint of regret that I didn’t appreciate those days more when I had them.
How could I have known?
Back on the roof.
The city is quiet, and a morning mist still sits over the streets. I sip my first coffee of the day and think that there’s something magical in the air. I never want to lose this moment, so I write it down. Years after I move out of this building, I’ll be looking back at this secret rooftop with nostalgia: at the beautiful view, the early morning hum of the city, the smell of my coffee, the warm embrace of the sun.
I ask myself if I’ll miss this moment when it’s gone. It reminds me stop and note every small detail, to take an inventory of my senses: the scents, the sounds, the tastes. To enjoy it a little more, and appreciate it before it goes.
Nostalgia isn’t a memory, it isn’t a regret. It’s a reminder to enjoy even simple moments before they become yesterday’s memories. A reframe to celebrate the present instead of lamenting the past.
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