Nostalgia is a curious creature. It sneaks up on you in the most unexpected moments, like when you stumble upon an old action figure buried deep in the basement or hear a familiar theme song that instantly transports you back to a simpler time. I still feel great emotional attachment to cherished franchises from my childhood — Star Trek, Star Wars, Yu-Gi-Oh, Pokemon, and more. They’re like old friends, steadfast and comforting, who rarely fail to bring me joy. Yet, intertwined with this joy is a simmering undercurrent of bitterness and, occasionally, even rage.
These beloved artifacts of my past are entangled with memories of the very people who once professed to love me, only to abandon me when I inevitably embraced my true self. To them, I’m now but a ghost, a mere simulacrum of the person they thought they knew. What they see now is some kind of mutation, a deviation from the script they’d written for my life. This complicated relationship I have with nostalgia oscillates between joy and sorrow, love and betrayal. The very things I turned to for escape from my mental, emotional, and spiritual pain are now bittersweet reminders of the disconnection and rejection I’ve endured.
So, let’s explore the absurdity of our everyday interactions with nostalgia. We’ll examine the cultural, philosophical, and scientific threads woven into our collective experience. In order to not get carried away by it, we need to cultivate a more layered and textured understanding of nostalgia. Along the way, I’ll offer actionable advice to help navigate these often-tumultuous journeys through our past.
The Joy of Nostalgia
At its core, nostalgia is meant to be a celebration of the past. It’s those moments when we unearth old treasures, like the Pokémon cards we meticulously collected and traded on the playground, or when we hear the opening notes of the Star Wars theme that instantly lights up our faces with childlike glee. These fragments of our childhood are more than just relics; they’re the building blocks of our identity, of who we are today.
Star Trek, Star Wars, Yu-Gi-Oh, and Pokémon were more than mere pastimes. These were integral parts of my childhood, realms I could escape to whenever the real world felt too overwhelming. Each franchise offered a different sort of sanctuary. Star Trek provides a vision of a hopeful future, where logic and compassion can solve even the most insurmountable problems. Star Wars is a space opera where good ultimately triumphs over evil, a comforting narrative for children and adults alike. Yu-Gi-Oh and Pokémon are hands-on adventures, cards and games that we could control and conquer.
More than occupying my seemingly endless free time as a youth, the sense of belonging I found within these fan communities was unparalleled. I reveled in the camaraderie at tournaments and watch parties, the shared excitement over new releases, and the deep, meaningful conversations about characters and plotlines that often stretched into the early hours of the morning. These were my tribes, and within them, I felt seen and understood.
Also, these franchises supercharged my creativity. Inspired by the strange new worlds and compelling characters of Star Trek, I began crafting my own stories, constructing a universe that has been evolving since I was four years old. Those principles of exploration, justice, and diversity that Star Trek champions became the cornerstones of my creative endeavors. These childhood escapes evolved beyond hobbies into foundational aspects of my sense of self and my understanding of how the world should, but inevitably doesn’t, operate.
But, as much as nostalgia brings joy, it also brings pain, especially when it becomes intertwined with the personal betrayals of those who were supposed to love us unconditionally. These betrayals add a bitter note to the sweetness of our memories, complicating our relationship with the past and making the simple act of reminiscing a minefield of emotions.
The Pain of Abandonment
The joy of nostalgia is a double-edged sword, but the pain of abandonment cuts even deeper. Imagine being surrounded by people who once claimed to love you, only to have them turn away when you decide to embrace your true self. This is my life and my reality. Such betrayal becomes a deep-seated scar that throbs with every reminder of the past. These very people who filled my childhood with joyous memories now view me as an unrecognizable deviation from the person they once knew.
Their abandonment feels like a cruel twist of fate, especially since the interests we shared were our sanctuary from the harsh realities we all faced. Star Trek, with its hopeful vision of the future, offered me a sense of belonging in a world where I often felt out of place. These games, duels, and adventures were the lifelines that kept me afloat amid emotional and mental turmoil.
But now, these lifelines are tainted with the bitterness of rejection. The joyous memories are overshadowed by the pain of being discarded by those who once shared in my happiness. Their rejection wasn’t just of my true self, but also of the very essence of who I was—a child seeking relief in the simple pleasures of life. This realization is a heavy burden, one that I carried for far too long.
This dissonance between the joy of my nostalgic interests and the pain of the betrayal of those who once shared in them with me creates a constant internal conflict. On one hand, these interests continue to be a source of comfort and joy for me; but, on the other hand, they still remind me of the people who failed to love me for who I truly am. This dichotomy makes my relationship with nostalgia profoundly complicated.
Being a ghost to my past, a mere shadow of the person they once knew, is an isolating experience. It’s as if they only ever saw me as a projection of their expectations, a character in their script, and not as a living, breathing individual with my own path to follow. Their abandonment left me grappling with feelings of inadequacy and failure, believing that I had let them down by not conforming to their ideals.
However, as I delved deeper into my nostalgic refuges, I began to understand that it wasn’t I who failed them; it was they who failed me. They failed to see the real me, the person who found consolation and joy in the world of Star Trek, the strategy of trading card games, and the spirit of baseball. They failed to appreciate the unique individual I was becoming, one who couldn’t be neatly categorized or controlled.
In retrospect, their failure to love me for who I am reflects their limited understanding of love and acceptance. It reveals their inability to embrace the complexities of human identity and the richness of individual experiences. This realization, though painful, has been a crucial step in my journey toward self-acceptance and healing.
I now realize that my continued escape into these nostalgic realms often serves no other purpose than to placate a guilt that never should have been mine to bear. I blame myself for the actions of those who sought to mold me into something I was never meant to be. They were the ones who viewed me not as a person, but as a pliable object, a source of amusement and a subject of their misguided determinism.
The Dual Nature of Nostalgia
Nostalgia has a dual nature, with the capacity to act both as a balm for old wounds and a reminder of those very scars. It’s a constant push and pull between the comfort of familiar joys and the sting of past betrayals. The very act of escaping into these interests underscores the unresolved pain from which I was fleeing.
The pain of abandonment is an enduring part of my story, one that has shaped my relationship with nostalgia in profound ways. Yes, it can serve as a constant reminder that the things we hold dear can be both sources of joy and reminders of past pain. But it’s in acknowledging this duality that we find the strength to move forward, embracing our true selves and the memories that define us.
Feeling guilt for disappointing those who never truly loved me for myself loomed large for many years. It created a vicious cycle where the more I sought refuge in nostalgia, the more I felt the sting of people’s abandonment. This guilt was a false burden, one I carried out of a misplaced sense of duty to people who valued conformity over individuality.
The realization that I wasn’t the one who failed—that it was they who failed me—was a turning point. People failed to accept my complex identity and didn’t choose to love me unconditionally; even as they claimed to love me with their words, they were harshly conditional in their actions. Their expectations were a cage, one that I broke free from by embracing my true self. However, this freedom came with its own set of challenges, primarily the internal conflict between the joy of my nostalgic escapes and the bitterness from the rejection of those that once enjoyed them alongside me.
The Impact of Nostalgia on My Personal and Professional Life
Despite the inner turmoil, these nostalgic interests have also been sources of personal and professional growth. Star Trek, with its philosophical underpinnings, has deeply influenced my creative work. The ideals of exploration, diversity, and ethical dilemmas continue to inspire my writing, even if my own contributions to the Trek universe have remained as personal head canon, likely to remain unpublished indefinitely.
In the realm of baseball, however, my analytical approach has yielded some notable successes of self-realization. From a well-received research paper in college to occasional viral editorial pieces, my love for the game has translated into tangible achievements. However, these successes are often overshadowed by the sting of rejection from those who failed to see the value in my perspective.
The world of trading card games stands as a major example of the volatility of online nostalgia communities. My journey from a casual player to a respected reviewer in the Magic the Gathering community was marked by small victories and significant setbacks. The malicious actions of a few detractors, who sabotaged my online presence, serve as a bitter reminder of the fragility of success. Yet, the content I created during that time, including the popular “Is X a Good Pokemon?” series, remains a proud legacy, albeit one that has shifted focus over time.
Revisiting and polishing old works, especially those related to my nostalgic interests, has become a therapeutic endeavor for me. This is how I reclaim and reinterpret my past successes, turning them into a source of ongoing inspiration. My nostalgic content continued to draw significant organic traffic for many years, reaffirming the value of my contributions and providing a direct connection to the better moments from my past.
Closing Thoughts
Today, I speak my truth unapologetically, knowing that my journey is uniquely mine and that the intersection of joy and sorrow in nostalgia testifies to my resilience. So, when it comes to nostalgia, here are three pieces of actionable advice:
So, when it comes to nostalgia, here are three pieces of actionable advice:
In a time overflowing with reboots and nostalgia bait, it’s essential that we balance our affection for the past with an awareness of its emotional weight. Channeling our nostalgic interests into creative and productive endeavors can turn our past joys into present strengths. Even if we enjoy a certain nostalgic property to the fullest, we must recognize and abstain whenever there’s emotional manipulation being levied against us. We must never give into greed and exploitation in the name of the escapes we’ve long held dear.
Nostalgia must be understood as more than a mere longing for the past; it’s a rich, layered experience that shapes our understanding of who we are, but is often weaponized against us for capitalist profit at our expense. But by embracing nostalgia for its positive aspects, we can find strength in our memories and learn from our pain, helping us to forge a future that honors the fullness of our journey.
Ultimately, nostalgia can serve as both sanctuary and battlefield. It offers us a unique lens through which we can examine our lives, while also providing valuable refuge from pain. But being healthy in our nostalgia means also that we confront the ghosts of our past. Navigating it with wisdom allows us to embrace our true selves, honoring the memories that shape us while forging a path forward unburdened by the past.
~ Amelia Desertsong
