_edited.png)
As soon as we hit our teen years, we start counting down the days: the day we get our license, graduate high school, move out, and finally step into the glamorous chaos of adulthood. We can't wait to grow up.
When I moved from a quiet suburb in Ohio to the big city of Chicago, I was ready for my life to finally begin.
But, almost immediately, I found myself missing the “simpler days”. The high school days when I didn’t have to make all my own decisions, when I saw my best friends every day, and when I lived with my parents (which, at the time, I thought I would never miss).
Were those really simpler days, though?
Okay, obviously, being a child was a simpler time. There’s a kind of nostalgia we all experience: the fun, surface-level kind. The kind that makes us rewatch Barbie movies, rediscover our old favorite songs, and dress like it’s 2003 again. It’s nostalgia for a time period, a collective childhood aesthetic that we all get to relive in bits and pieces.
But the nostalgia I’m feeling is different. It’s not just about music, movies, or vibes—it’s about who I actually was back then. Even who I was two months before I moved, so much change occurred so quickly. I think it is less about missing a younger version of myself and more about the fear of change and fear of where I am going next. And that’s where it gets complicated.
It’s strange how we romanticize the past, especially when we were genuinely unhappy during those times. It’s a harsh realization that nostalgia can trick us into longing for something we might not have appreciated when we had it.
When I look back at those days in Ohio, I remember the friendships and the comfort of familiarity. But I also forget the frustrations of feeling stuck, the confusion of adolescence, and the desire to break free. It’s easy to look back and think it was all perfect, but in reality, it wasn’t.
I think the biggest shock about this newfound nostalgia that I constantly feel is that I did not exactly have a perfect home life at all. And yet, here I am, catching myself looking back through rose-colored glasses, trying to make sense of a past that wasn’t nearly as magical as nostalgia wants me to believe.
The Psychology of Nostalgia: Why We Cling to the Past
Nostalgia is often a way of coping with current stress or dissatisfaction. When faced with the complexities and uncertainties of adulthood, we long for the comfort and simplicity of earlier stages of life. This feeling can be especially intense during periods of transition, like moving to a new city or reaching a point of personal growth where things feel overwhelming. Nostalgia offers a temporary escape from the challenges of the present, allowing us to feel a sense of stability and comfort.
I think I can attribute a lot of my feelings to the uncertainty of my move to Chicago. It was a very big change that I thought I was more ready for. I felt that I had grown up too fast and deserved to relive my childhood, which is an interesting feeling to grapple with.
Identity, Change, and the Fear of Letting Go
Romanticizing the past can also be linked to the psychological need for continuity of identity. The past is where we first learned who we are, so we look back to make sense of ourselves in the present. By idealizing past experiences, we feel more grounded in our personal history and identity. It can provide a sense of continuity, even when the present feels unstable. Essentially, we hold onto past memories because they help us make sense of who we are and where we’ve come from.
Moving to Chicago forced me to let go of so many things that I thought defined me. My daily routine changed. My habits changed. Even the food I ate changed. And for someone who spent years clinging to structure as a form of control, that was terrifying.
For the first time, I had total freedom, something I had always wanted, but with that freedom came the unsettling realization that I didn’t know who I was without all my old constraints. I was no longer the girl desperately trying to escape her small town. So, who was I now?
For about a year, this feeling consumed me. It felt like losing something intangible, an identity I had worn for so long that shedding it felt unnatural. Slowly, I started settling into a new version of myself.
And that’s the thing about nostalgia: it convinces us that the past was more stable than it actually was. But in reality, we were always changing, always unsure, always just trying to figure it out. Maybe the best thing we can do is embrace the fact that every version of ourselves is temporary.
Do We Ever Stop Grieving Our Past Selves?
I’m barely 21 and already feel like I have a complicated relationship with nostalgia. I don't think this feeling will go away as I will continue to get older and continue to grow and change.
So, right now, in these moments, I try to remind myself that although my life feels imperfect, I will look back on these current moments too and see everything with rose-colored glasses, wishing I could be 21 years old again.
Comments