Nostalgia
Six years ago, I woke up on Keuka Lake in a dear friend’s lakehouse, where I stayed while I was home for my mother’s funeral. I remember pausing that morning, trying to determine if everything felt heightened because of my emotions or if I was truly perceiving and remembering things correctly.
The bagel was perfect, thanks to my Long Island family, who came upstate for the event.
The lake was breathtaking, and I hadn’t remembered the scenery being so intensely gorgeous. I remembered it as being beautiful, but in those moments, it felt like I was experiencing its beauty with every sense and cell of my being.
Today, I know the answer. Long Island Bagels are still the best, the Finger Lakes are indeed stunning, and my memories (while perhaps skewed by my sensitive and intense nature) are just as beautiful as I recall.
Have you ever noticed that when you take a picture of something that resonates as one of the most exquisite things you’ve ever experienced, the photo is never quite like what you saw with your own eyes? That the picture itself doesn’t come close to what you experienced?
The same can be true when we interpret an event differently than the person standing right next to us. We assume that we both experienced the same exact thing simply because we were there in that moment together.
That’s because everything that we see, feel, and think is filtered through our own distinct perception of reality. Some people think the same is true of memories. But that doesn’t mean that the perception of an event wasn’t as poignantly beautiful as the person remembers. Each one of us has a lifetime of experiences that are hardwired in our brains to add to not only our personalities but also our perceptions of every single event that we have ever experienced. No two humans will ever perceive life through the same lens, and yet we find ourselves trying to find connection through sameness, looking for the perfect fit, whether it’s through friendships or in love.
It’s true that we are shaped by our experiences, but our perception of this very moment is also shaped by those experiences, so what one person finds terrifying, another person may be unmoved by. Likewise, what one person easily detaches from can leave another person completely unmoored. I wonder if, through opening ourselves to being vulnerable and living our lives wholeheartedly, it’s possible that the ongoing work of becoming our authentic selves lends an entirely different depth of lived experience.
I like to think that I see, feel, and remember things so vividly because I choose to stay open to that experience. It’s not easy to make that choice, and it’s not framing life through “rose colored glasses,” because it brings both the unpleasant and the beautiful to mind with a clarity that has the potential to break me open or heal me—or both. It’s living life on a highly sensitive frequency, and it means being tapped into the world even when it’s ugly.
It means being particularly susceptible to the habits of others when they unintentionally hurt you for reasons entirely their own.
Or being haunted by memories that others have long since forgotten.
Or carrying the weight of loss.
Perhaps we turn off the clarity by choice as well. Regret can absolutely shape our perceptions. We can choose to believe that a memory isn’t as beautiful as we thought, because that’s easier to accept when we can never return to the past to relive that memory. I don’t think a memory is any less worthy if it’s in sepia tone, black and white, or in vivid, high-definition color. I think we have to choose and practice using the lens that we want to experience our lives with.
Sometimes just knowing and accepting that something is both complicated and beautiful is a perfectly good choice. And sometimes acknowledging that you were the singular human who had the privilege to experience something magnificent in all of its glorious beauty is enough. It doesn’t make it any less beautiful.
But these are choices we have to make for ourselves.
The kicker is that we have to live with them.
