Nostalgia, you look so pretty on the hanger; but when I slip into you, I cringe—you just don’t suit my complexion.
These days, it’s important to coax the inner optimist to come out and play, take off his shoes and stay for a while, because, for Pete’s sake, he’s the guy with the guts. He’s the guy who can take the past, all those lingering puzzle pieces, and fit them into their proper place at your roots. He makes those moments a part of you, and while you may fight him to hang onto those snapshots of what used to be, he’ll lay his hands over your tiny, ineffectual fists and say, “Let them be.”
Because, after all, how can we turn around and make more moments when all we do is stare at the old ones?
How do we latch onto something new—a new person, place or thing—when all those memories come swimming to the foreground before we’ve even had the chance to begin painting anew?
So I’ll tell you, she’s a looker. That girl nostalgia knows where to find you, because she is everywhere. In your iPod, your phone, in those traveling pants, under your bed in boxes, in a butt dialed phone call. And then there’s her shock factor—you don’t even realize she’s holding your hand, leading you down ways that you know you shouldn’t tread.
It’s okay if you can’t turn her down. Sometimes she is nice to be with, but other times, you’ve got to draw the line. Tell her that you’re not in this for the long run. Just a quick hello will do.
Turn around and wave goodbye. Take the hand of Mr. Inner Optimistic, and tell him where it is you’d like to go.