Nostalgia.  It’s an interesting concept, isn’t it?  A longing, a memory. An embodied knowing of something from the past.  Is it technically a feeling?  Yes, I think so.  And it’s one I have had conflicted feelings about feeling.  (So meta, I know.)

Growing up in my family of origin, I was taught that nostalgia was a thing to be quashed.  (To be fair, there was equal opportunity feeling-quashing going on in my home.  The list was quite long of things we weren’t supposed to feel.)  But nostalgia was described as a somewhat pathetic experience that represented being stuck in the past.  I was taught a distain for the idea of “sitting around telling stories about the Old World” (meaning Eastern Europe), rather than moving on with one’s life.  An anger at longing for things that probably weren’t as amazing as they were made out to be.  And at the alcohol that accompanied the remembering.

I understand the shadow side to being stuck in nostalgia, of course.  But as I’ve grown older, I’ve also come to receive it as a joy-filled, sweet, and tender emotion.

I needed to come to New Jersey this past weekend to gather one of my kids from a week at his grandparents’ house, and I noticed myself feeling some nostalgia for the state.  Now lest you start in with the Jersey jokes, I’ll defend Central NJ as a beautiful place that stole my heart at a young age.

I paused and listened to my nostalgia for a moment.  “What would I do if I spent a night alone in Princeton on my way to my destination?” I asked myself.  A smile slowly spread across my face, and my whole body say, “DO IT!!”  I found myself crafting a beautiful trip down memory lane, replete with a walk on campus and a taste of some of my favorite college-era foods.  So with only a few days left before my trip, I booked a hotel and took the nostalgia plunge.

Dinner at Thai Village, the first restaurant where I ever experienced Thai food, was exactly as I remembered it.  I told my server that the Pad Thai, with its scrumptious mountain of peanut chunks, was just as delicious as the first time I ate it with my freshman R.A. back in 1997.  My young server confirmed that the chefs were still using the same 30-year old recipe an elderly Thai woman had brough with her to the United States when the restaurant opened.

My post-dinner ice cream from Halo Pub didn’t disappoint, either.  I slowly licked a sugar cone full of chocolate peanut-butter goodness as I walked through the gates outside of Nassau Hall.  I meandered over to the fountain I jumped in when I handed in my senior thesis, and laughed with the kids who were playing there in their swimsuits.  Memories exploded in my brain with every step.  Some good.  Some not as happy.  But all of them real.  All of them things I hadn’t thought about in so long.

Nostalgia as Self-Care and Identity-Remembering

I’m a huge fan of Dr. Pooja Lakshmin’s book Real Self-Care: A Transformative Program for Redefining Wellness.  (You can listen to a conversation we had about the book here.)  And I’ve become convinced that acting on feelings of nostalgia can be an effective way of putting into effect her third “principle of real self-care,” which is “bringing in what matters most TO YOU.”

 

 

Acting on – or as I’ve been saying playfully this week “indulging in” – nostalgia is an entirely inside job.  Only you can know what makes you nostalgic.  Because only you can have the memories that evoke a sweetness and longing for something from your past.  We may be able to mimic someone else’s choice of ice cream flavor or yoga class.  But we can’t imitate someone else’s nostalgia.

I’ve also discovered that listening to my own nostalgia, and then taking steps to re-experience that memory from my past, has been a helpful identity-remembering tool.  How often, as working parents, do we mutter that we barely remember life without kids?  “Who was I before I was mom,” is an important question to ask always.  But particularly as our kids grow up and we have more and more time without them.

My recent trip to Princeton also gave me a chance to pause and mourn some of what I have lost since my four years there.  Most notably, a dear college friend.  Mona and I were born on the very same day back in 1979, befriended one another early on in our college careers, and celebrated together in that fountain on thesis day.  Cancer took her so young earlier this year, and being at the fountain reminded me of her beauty and joy.

I urge you today, working parents, to take the time to pause and think about what makes you nostalgic.  What gives you some longing in your heart and mist in your eyes.  Maybe it’s a place.  Or a cookie.  Or a movie.  Go there.  Eat that thing.  Watch that film.  And reconnect with a part of yourself you may have completely forgotten was hiding.

 

Want more practical tips on working parenthood?  Check out my book, Back to Work After Baby: How to Plan and Navigate a Mindful Return from Maternity Leave