Janet’s Journal: Moving forward from nostalgia

By Opinion Editor Janet Guan

On the wall beside my bedroom desk, I keep a careful mosaic of memories. Crowded with old birthday cards, certificates, and lanyards from events I attended, the wall is a window into the happiest moments of my past.

For the longest time, I was obsessed with nostalgia. More than reminiscing about old memories, I was paranoid about losing the present. I thought that, if I didn’t cling on hard enough and take something with me into the future, it would fade out forever in significance. Determined to make every moment count, I maintained a rigorous routine of documentation. I preserved every friend group outing, family vacation, and heartstopping view with photos and carefully tended albums. I tracked my day-to-day in journal entries throughout elementary and middle school, sure that even the mundane would soon become foreign. I spent hours meticulously curating my Spotify playlists, hoping that each song I added would one day take me back to a familiar place.

Yet, as time went on, it became more and more difficult to keep up with every new experience in my life. I lost track of all my albums and found myself taking fewer and fewer photos every month. I quit daily journaling after entering high school, finding it easier to write spontaneously than with a fixed routine. I gave up on creating detailed playlists, opting to reuse old ones or rely on convenient mixes instead. 

As I stopped constantly trying to manufacture a perfect past, I found myself, unexpectedly, more attuned to the present. I could enjoy every laugh with friends, meal with my family, and breathtaking sunset without rushing to take out my phone. I could pour my heart into the journal entries I truly felt like writing, rather than forcing myself to for the sake of consistency. And I could listen to new music and create new playlists out of joy for what was, instead of worry for what would be.

Looking back, my fixation with nostalgia was less about appreciation for the present but a paralyzing fear of change and the uncertain future. Nostalgia and the warm, golden images of my past were a coping mechanism, my anchor in a sea of inevitable unfamiliarity; I held on to the present because I didn’t know if anything to come would ever be as safe.

By allowing myself to let go as the present slips into the past, I’ve accepted that not every moment will be as beautiful as the last, but that only by embracing what’s next will there exist the possibility of something even greater. 

I know that part of me will still hold onto old nostalgia. I still revisit my old photos, journal entries, and playlists. I still add new memorabilia to my wall of memories. Yet, I no longer let fear dictate how I treat the present or regard the future. Happiness sticks — not just in pretty pictures or words or songs — but in the rush of feeling alive. What we experienced yesterday lives on in the people we are today and the possibilities of tomorrow. By trusting in this permanence, we can savor the past and present while striding nonstop towards the future.