So things have been quiet here on the lil’ old blog.
The past few weeks have been incredibly overwhelming, and I haven’t been able to find any semblance of a spark of motivation within me to write. Or perhaps I should clarify, write something that’s not crap.
I would be lying if I said that my only excuse for not publishing anything was that I was too busy. For me, the issue goes much deeper. Since quitting my job and announcing that I am moving to New Zealand, my life has been one giant emotional upheaval. Don’t get me wrong, I am so incredibly excited about all these new changes in my life. Finally I feel like I am happy and following my dreams, doing the right thing after years of uncertainty. But considering the fact that I’m borderline OCD and have the tendency to overanalyze EVERYTHING, I can’t help but reflect upon what I am saying goodbye to.
You see, ever since I got back from Jordan, I have been dealing with the mysterious, complicated issue of nostalgia. Why I can’t be a normal person with normal feelings, I’ll never know. No matter how hard I try, I will always be incredibly emotional; feelings that are normal for everyone else are amplified tenfold within me. I can’t help it. Can’t I just be happy that I am moving to a place I’ve dreamed about for ten years and that’s that?
I think it all boils down to the fact that I feel torn in two about the life I have chosen for myself.
I love traveling more than anything in the world. Getting to discover new lands, following my dreams to far-flung destinations, experiencing cultural differences and standing in some of the most beautiful places I could ever dream about is beyond gratifying. For me, to travel is to live.
But at the same time, I am looking for a home. Tired of packing my life into a backpack and carry-on bag, the other half of me hates this nomadic lifestyle I have carved out for myself and would love nothing more than to buy a house somewhere, a rock to begin building my life on. I hate that I don’t have a home anymore. I hate that I can’t buy furniture or towels or even books because I have nowhere to put them. I hate that I only get to see my best friends and family maybe once a year, if I’m lucky. I hate that I hate living out of a backpack. But if I were to change my lifestyle now, who is to say I would be happy settled in one place? See, talk about conflicted! Have you ever felt this way?
The way I see it (and what I tell myself when I get homesick at night for the home I don’t have) is that I am only 25 and I have my whole life ahead of me to settle. Right? Just a few more years of bopping around the world, I hope.
But back to nostalgia and the topic at hand.
Do you ever travel somewhere, and it pulls on your heart so much that you think to yourself, oh yes, I could live here – I never want to leave!
Well, I must be a travel whore because I feel that ALL THE FREAKIN’ TIME! Like all the time, I’m not exaggerating. Logroño, Spain – check. Julian Alps, Slovenia – check. Western Massachusetts – check. Soho, NYC – check. Oxford, England – check. Anywhere in Switzerland – check. New Zealand, where I haven’t even been yet – double check! The list goes on and on. What the hell is wrong with me?
When I feel strongly about a place, I get so attached to the point where I get massively sad when it’s time for me to leave. Since I made the decision to up and move for a year to New Zealand, I’ve been overcome with feelings of nostalgia for all the places I’m leaving behind. It started in New York City.
I hadn’t been to the city for almost 2 years, after splitting up with my ex to travel, so going back brought back a whole lot of memories, good and bad. New York was a city I hoped to live in one day, that I was even planning to move back to when shit hit the fan a few summers past. Needless to say it was weird and difficult going back.
But the hardest part was leaving New York City to head up to Western Massachusetts where I went to college, and probably the only area of the country I could really envision myself settling down in one day. As soon as I got off the highway to visit old friends, I was hit over the head with a feeling of homesickness. I spent as much time as I could visiting old friends and old haunts, but when the time came to head down the road to my alma mater in South Hadley, I couldn’t do it.
It was raining cats and dogs, and I was sitting in my jeep after grabbing a coffee at one of my favorite cafes in Amherst. Surrounded by anxious college kids prepping for finals, I sat and worked for a bit before I was scheduled to head over to Mount Holyoke. Dripping wet in the front seat, I literally couldn’t bring myself to make the drive over. I was overcome with nostalgia and longing for my old life. Like an total nutcase, I started to cry like the emotional mess I was. Luckily, since it was finals week, this behavior didn’t look too out of place.
College was equal parts amazingness and equal parts hell for me, but I know without Mount Holyoke, I wouldn’t be the person I am today. I have incredible memories of my four years in the Valley, and with this sudden, dramatic change in my life, I wasn’t ready to go back to the one place that truly felt like home to me. Not when I couldn’t stay.
In fact, I realized quite a few things that afternoon. One of them being that I avoid returning to places I truly love. Over the years, I have been exceptionally good about NOT going back to places I’ve spent significant time. I only have been back to Cordoba and Salamanca, Spain once or twice, and left as fast I could. And I lived in both places for a year. Any normal person would be thrilled to go back, right? Instead I run the other way.
While I was sitting in the rain in my car in an overpriced parking lot, I had an epiphany (yes, I did just write that).
I think the reason I have so much trouble going back to places where I have such wonderful memories is that they are just never the same for me. Why?
Because more often than not, the people I shared those experiences with aren’t there anymore. Or they have moved on, while I am still stuck in the past: “hey guys remember that one time we…..”
Yeah, I’m that person. Shoot me now.
For me, the destination is only half of the reason I fall in love so easily. The other half are the people I get to experience it with. When I went back to Salamanca for the first time a year after I left, no one who I shared that time with was still there. It made my return very bittersweet. Like as if I was walking a ghost town, filled with strangers. It didn’t feel like “my city” anymore.
Deep down I knew how sad I would be if I went to Mount Holyoke knowing that all my college friends weren’t there with me. Maybe that’s why I am always looking forward at new places to see instead of wanting to go back to places I’ve been and loved. It’s like I’m running away from it. Sweet Jesus, that can’t be healthy.
But is that to say if I were to move back to Massachusetts, Córdoba, Salamanca or Logroño, would I be happy? Can perfect experiences be repeated? Or would I just be holding onto a memory and be that annoying person who’s always reminiscing about the good ol’ days?
Can you relate to this? Please tell me I am not the only one who feels this way! Do you avoid going back to places you’ve lived and loved? Have you ever gotten a case of the travel nostalgia? Do you have any tips for me to get over this? Or am I just a pretentious dbag with no right to talk about this topic at all since I am not even 30 yet? Pipe up!
Wowza, I really didn’t intend for my return to blogging to be quite so dramatic and philosophized. I’ll make up for it and let my next post be about when I fell off a camel in Jordan.
About the author
[…] guys might remember but I have talked before about nostalgia and how I have trouble going back to places I’ve lived […]
[…] Adventuress – Travel and The Issue of Nostalgia. Liz writes with a frank honesty and humour which I admire and enjoy. And this post followed the […]
Nostalgia simply ain’t what it used to be. Sucks!
These feelings tend to float around in my head pretty much all the time. It’s great to be able to relate to someone else about such an illusive feeling which is hard to put into words.. I think this generation of young adults is having a significant paradigm shift in lifestyles; the age of travelling is officially here. Whereas our parents and grandparents are rooted in one place and have secure jobs, lifestyles and hobbies, we have realised that there is somewhat more to life and it’s ever so easy to book a flight to anywhere in the world!
In my experience, the first taste of travelling and subsequently a great deal of nostalgia to follow around 6 months after I left, was to Australia when I was 19. I’m from England and was studying at university, and decided in my second year to go on exchange to Australia. The first thing i’ll say is, our memories really only focus on the good times and the amazingness of it all. If I objectively look back and think at the hoops I had to jump through there was a lot to contend with, which at the time didn’t matter at all as you feel part of a new world where nothing can go wrong. However, despite all the logistical changes to ones life, the people I met there were absolutely brilliant, they helped me settle in, welcomed me to the campus and gave me a hand with pretty much anything I needed. One thing I learned was that you can always rely on good people, my initial intentions to go travelling were like “Oh i’ll be fine on my own, I want to discover for myself”. In any case this I think would have worked anyway, but the people I met I owe everything to, and I know never to take that for granted.
I think all these little things we do add to the nostalgia. I remember hiring a campervan and cooking meals from the small cooker in the boot during sunset on the east coast of Aus. It’s things like that that really get to me, and what makes it worse is as you’ve talked about, if you were to repeat such an experience it would never be the same. I guess what we learn, as we mature is not to hold on to the past, and know that the future holds just as rich and fond memories, it’s just about taking the plunge and trying new things.
After Australia, I was now in a relationship with an American girl who I had met there (yes, it felt very hollywood – even more since our dorm rooms were right opposite each other over the courtyard). Anyway, obviously this led me to visit my girlfriend in America, which is why I am writing this as today nostalgia hit me of the time I spent there (hence how I found your article). I think America is a great experience, the whole culture there is like no other, and totally novel and exciting compared to the UK. This therefore I think is why it has generated a longing to return. I think this illustrates the phrase; variety is the spice of life, pretty much perfectly. I certainly think places like NY generate a great sense of nostalgia in people, and as time goes by our longing to return becomes ever greater.