Anytime But the Present
(Originally published in my blog “Undertaken Seriously” on April 27, 2017)
What is so damn inviting about the past and the future? Whether the question is “Remember when we were..?” or “Imagine when we can..?” our minds are quite comfortable slipping into memories or daydreams to escape from the here and now. Nostalgia and futurism alike transport us to a faraway, abstract place; something like a dream where we let go of our present stress.
Nostalgia, I once heard, can be thought of as a minor form of depression. Should one wallow in warm, fuzzy memories more often than engaging with the present, I can see the merit of the comparison. To privilege your happy memories over your everyday experience is to say that you were happier then—hence your constant escape to your “happy place.”
It sounds cynical to a degree, but it meshes well with my previous assertion to “live in the moment,” no matter how shitty that moment might be. I also am not arguing for a complete lack of nostalgia; only perhaps a reduction in it. For too much nostalgia can leave you too sapped of motivation to accomplish much else in the present, thus preventing any later nostalgia from ever taking place. Paradoxical, man.
It’s like Back to the Future, but with memories. You have to get your parents to dance (your current moment) in order to make sure that you exist later on (your future, and future nostalgia). You don’t want to start disappearing from photographs, do you??
Brands have caught on to this nostalgia fetish (namely Netflix), and our president even campaigned on it. They recognize the quick, easy route to a positive state of minds, and exploit it.
Bill Nye just released a new show after his last one ended—wait for it, you’re going to feel really fucking old—20 YEARS AGO. Carmen San Diego is getting a reboot (check out the Fortune article here). Full House was rebooted. Star Wars began a new trilogy. Beauty & The Beast was remade (and Disney has 22 more live-action reboots in the works.) The list goes on and on and on.
Entertainment aside, let’s not forget the power of nostalgia in a vague slogan like “Make America Great Again.” Even more interesting is that the line was originally a Ronald Regan/ George H.W. Bush slogan from 1980, which shows that nostalgic appeals are nothing new—merely surging in popularity.
Admittedly I am a sucker for nostalgia, and no doubt many of the people reading this blog are as well. I own vinyl records for Christ’s sake. There is something visceral, something so endearing about holding onto old shit. I think of my father every time I play my original-press Led Zeppelin record that’s approximately 2.3x older than I am. I feel his presence in the nature of the music, as well as its medium, and it makes me happy.
Yet this nostalgic power is dangerous. It’s very easy to fall into a hole of “Life was so much better then”-type of thinking. It’s sad and happy at the same time. The memories are great, but simultaneously you realize you’ll never experience that exact moment ever again; how dreary. That’s where the light of futurism appears at the end of the tunnel, though perhaps equally dangerous (i.e. it turns out to be an oncoming train).
Futuristic appeals to our senses are exciting where nostalgia is warm and relaxing; they are hopeful while nostalgia can leave us a little deflated. “Just think of the possibilities!” says the futurist, inspiring a yearning for a better life.
Flying cars. Neural interfaces to control technology with our thoughts (shoutout Elon Musk). Medical sensors that are unnoticeable and everlasting. Ubiquitous and affordable renewable energy infrastructure, to finally kick our addiction to fossil fuel and immoral, greedy business ties to coal/natural gas industries…Wait, never mind, this one is actually possible right now. Yikes.
But there’s hope. Many of these things are possible; not wholly abstract like a memory. But are they inevitable? That’s a different question. See, futurism is the antithesis to nostalgia, yet can still leave us feeling discouraged.
Look back at the Jetsons, or 1984, or any of the corny futurist ideas from the 1950’s: Do you see any similarity with what I just described? We don’t have meals in a pill, or jetpacks, or flying cars. The possibility is here, but people mistake possibility for inevitability, and that’s a very faulty assumption.
Yet I say privilege futurism over nostalgia because of this exact possibility. We have not fully realized the visions of the past, because they were just that—visions. But with the future, this mismatch between imagination and reality is the fuel that makes futurist thinking so exciting, because we never know what we’re going to get (shoutout Forrest Gump).
Futurism gives us something to look forward to because we are so unsure. “I, for one, welcome our robot overlords,” said The Simpsons, and we must adopt an open mindset like this for hope to fill in. We can fill in the blanks, if you will, with our imagination. We do the same with nostalgia, but there are far fewer blanks to fill in.
Still, I do believe there is no time like the present. That is all we are truly sure of. Look around you, and appreciate what you think and feel right now. Though I do understand everyone can become frustrated with living situations, political climate, relationships, and other stressors, etc. So if the present isn’t really doing it for you, and something sucks, go ahead and lose yourself in the past or the future for a while. We don’t blame you one bit.
