Have you ever noticed what an amazing editing job we do when we
think about the past? Those summers at the lake have become
positively halcyon: gone are the sunburn and mosquitoes, the
rainy days, the continuous fights with siblings and/or bunkmates.
Mom’s cooking has improved considerably with time and distance,
and we remember exclusively the birthday when we got that first
two-wheeler that we wanted more than anything else on earth.
And then, there are all those old snapshots and home videos
where everybody’s smiling. All the time. Apparently, we make
a point of not recording any tears. Or – is it possible that
no one ever cried back in those good old days? Well, now.
Probably not.
What, then? Are we deceiving ourselves? Maybe. Just a little.
But maybe we’re being very sensible, too. Even . . . well,
rather wise. This way, when things get rough in the
as-yet-unphotographed and un-memorized here and now, we can
wander back along Memory Lane to a place of comfort, a place
where we can feel as safe as we did back when our parents were
handling everything that we’re expected to handle now. Or maybe
they weren’t – handling things, that is. But even those of you
who had a really crummy childhood can probably remember at least
some brief moment of being cared for. Of feeling protected.
And it’s not that these places of refuge are fictional, either.
There was definitely smiling back then, at least some of the
time. And we were not always sunburnt or arguing. And somebody
held us and kissed away our tears. At least once. And those
good times are as real as the times when we skinned our knees,
or got punished unjustly, or had a headcold, or wept. There’s
a great line from an old Jimmy Stewart-Carole Lombard movie.
Poor Carole is having mother-in-law problems. Big time. And
her maid (in those old black-and-white movies, it seems like
everybody had a maid, even if they lived in a tenement),
says, “Don’t let the seeds make you lose your taste for the
watermelon.” Which is perhaps a helpful maxim to keep in mind
on one of those bad days at the office/with the kids/in a
lineup. And for those of you who are now screaming, “But,
eBobb! You have to face reality!” let me ask you this: what
makes the seeds more real than the watermelon?
So when you’re reminiscing with your sister or your best friend
from next-door or your old army buddy or your cellmate, and you
start telling stories about the good old days, and maybe playing
a couple of tunes from back when they knew what good music was
(which may be the thirties, the forties, the fifties, the
sixties, the seventies, or the eighties, depending on just when
your own personal good old days took place, and will be the
nineties and the oughts, too, before a whole lot longer), why
get into the time your cat died or the summer you developed that
mysterious rash or your two months in solitary? Kind of spoils
the effect, don’t you think? Like making your bed with satin
sheets and plump velvet pillows, then splashing on some Krazy
Glue. That is, it seems eminently more sensible to be a bit
prudent in your selection of reality – past, present, and future.
There’s a lot of it out there to choose from, after all.
And so, if things are not going especially well right now -
say you just burned the toast or totaled your car or are under
indictment for embezzlement - and you’re feeling a bit blue,
there’s no need to feel guilty about pulling out the old photo
album, noshing on some Ben & Jerry’s like mother used to buy,
and playing that tune you remember from junior year in high
school. Of course, it’s escapism. But what’s so bad about
escape? In fact, if you’re feeling trapped, isn’t escape a
good thing? So go ahead: snuggle into the warm and fuzzy
comfort of NostalgiaLand. It’ll make you feel better. Without
giving you a hangover. And then, consider this: if you can
create such a lovely past, maybe you can do the same thing with
your future. Hey, it’s worth a shot. Maybe, like your memories,
reality is pretty much whatever you think it is.
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