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Ok, so I grumped about old people being stuck in 1962. Well, in fairness, I should grump at myself for being stuck in 1992. Seems like there’s often a pivotal year in a person’s life.

Getting older has always been poignant, but there’s something extra about that process in an era of rapid technological shifts that not only change our world but archive the world that was, leaving its memories still accessible.

And it’s hard not to indulge in nostalgia for the lost times. The 90s were unique in their way. While I had struggles back then, I also had a lot of hope, fun, and simple acceptance, qualities which have been in short supply during this recent era.

The nostalgia comes in part from being young and without that many responsibilities. Yet it also come from the memory that technology wasn’t so intrusive in our daily lives. We nerds were online, yes, but in general, people didn’t need a computer and the internet to have a complete and fulfilling life. Jobs and activities were plentiful enough and focused on real, everyday life. That immediacy kept us in touch with our localities and with our humanity. 

I remember simple but fun activities like visiting friends for hours, watching tv, reading comic books, going to the park, and browsing used bookstores located in historic buildings. Malls were bustling, historic sites and museums were a legit destination, too. Going to the movies was still special and affordable. I can still remember going to see Jurassic Park with a friend group and how amazing that movie was. 

Even though I write science fiction and look to the future, paradoxically, many of my stories have to do with memory and the past. We have to process the past in order to move on to the future. Again, the poignancy of aging and living a relatively short life in a mortal body.

Each day is precious. Live and create memories. Be the person who will then give birth to the future self.

As a related topic, I think that’s why liminal space art and music has its appeal: these images and sounds tease us with a memories half-remembered in the subconscious, of something wonderful half-glimpsed from peripheral vision, or a dream that still seeks fruition. Liminal spaces help us to work through our memories and emotions. These spaces are comforting to me because as remote and spooky they seem on the surface, they are full of potential and possibilities.

Cherish the good memories and work through the not so good ones, then keep moving forward. 

Thoughts on a holiday weekend.