The difference between nostalgia and longing
“Take me back!”
I chuckle when people reshare an old photo on social media and write that. I mean sure, don’t let me sour the memory of your moving day in 2014. Those are moments belonging only to you (and whoever else you’ve tagged). But I do often question those posts, as I now do my own trips down memory lane: do we really want to go back?
Several weeks ago, I took off from work on a Tuesday to spend the afternoon in the city with my husband, who had brief in-person business to deal with. Our five-year-old daughter, Hazel, was with my mother for a few nights, and we had our part-time nanny staying late to watch our two-year-old daughter, Ruby. Everyone was accounted for – a rarity even before the pandemic – and we had nowhere to be.
We both work(ed?) in the Financial District. I’ve worked there almost my entire legal career in a number of roles, in a number of buildings, for a number of people. But that Tuesday was our first time back during business hours since this all began. Some things felt the same. As I rounded Fulton Street, I could still hear the trains screeching below and smell that warm air through the grates faintly scented with metal. Our office buildings were still standing (as if that was in question), and I waved hello to them like old friends. We had lunch at a familiar place we often would. In these respects, it could have been any day, any time, any year.
We strolled uptown to SoHo and made an impromptu stop at Lure Fishbar, which also felt familiar. Their fresh oysters, cold sake, us in our nice clothes in the late afternoon sun. We lived that moment, too. Back when I returned to work from my first maternity leave – when I was trying to figure out how anyone could possibly be a lawyer and a mother – we would occasionally make a quick stop for happy hour at Lure before relieving our nanny for the night. We’d exhale our day, inhale the oyster, and feel in a giddy sense like we were doing something wrong. Something just between us; two new parents, speaking a new language.
But do I wish to go back to those times? No.
Every day downtown was a grind. Trains would stall. The winters were brutal that close to the water. And not every role at every job in every building was a good one. Some streets remind me only of bad things; some salads I’ve cried into one too many times.
And aside from a few magical moments, I hated being a mother in New York City. I am not ashamed to admit that now. I didn’t like having a nanny and not knowing what she did with our daughter all day, piecing together lies from our doormen. A memorable date with my husband or cute photo of her in Central Park could never negate that feeling; the worry is still so easily accessible even when I write about it now.
It is possible to savor a memory without wanting to relive it.
We do not need to “go back” to appreciate having been through it. Nostalgia, a sweet appreciation for something you remember fondly, is beautiful. The woosh of subway air. A briny oyster. But wishing for it to be “then” instead of “now” is a whole different feeling – a yearning to access something you deeply miss.
I am nostalgic for other times, too. My first year in New York City was a sensory overload. The rigors of law school, the pace adjustment, leveling up to that intensity was so intimidating. But we had fun. My old friends met new friends and we all thought we owned the place; we knew true responsibility hovered in the distance and relished in what we had. But I’m good on all that. I’m better for all that.
Same goes for my first months of motherhood. Oh boy, those are complicated feels for a longer read. When I meet my girlfriends’ new little nuggets or see a bassinet rolling by, sure, there is a reactionary moment of joy. I miss doting on Baby Hazel when her fragile skin draped on top of mine; her mouth so quiet, free of empty threats and words like “crotch.” But good lord, do I never want to be a first-time mother again, my terrors keeping me up the nights she wouldn’t, hanging on every word of the pediatrician, not trusting anyone including myself. I’ll stick with the photos and a hospital blanket. Alright, maybe some teeny shoes, too.
The above being true, there are exceptions. Years I would want back include: my senior year of high school; my first year of college; and my first year of marriage. Those connections ran so deep and the possibilities seemed so endless. I wish I honored those times more.
I hope I recognize the next time I’m in one.
Are you nostalgic for a time you’re glad is over? What memories do you actually long for? I’d love to hear from you. Comment below or email averagejoelle3@gmail.com.
The little things
Sometime last summer, after the regrettable purchase of a waterproof Amazon bucket hat, I reached a conclusion: my ponytails deserved more dignity. After all, it was (and is) the hairstyle of choice.
Pictured above in my palm are Teleties, the greatest hair ties to ever wrestle this Medusa’s coif and win. They do not slip, they do not cause breakage, and most impressive of all, they do not stretch out. Like magic I could only dream of for my own face, they revert back to their original size and shape under warm water. Better yet, with each purchase, Teleties donates to FORCE, a non-profit organization that supports patients and families impacted by hereditary breast, ovarian, and related cancers. They’re also cute enough to pair with bracelets.
For a pony that’s a bit more pronounced, try embracing The Scrunchy Life once again. Don’t be embarrassed — these full circle moments come at you fast. Mine are from Lululemon and are machine washable.