Mankind has suffered a silent epidemic since it was able to record and preserve thought. Golden years and greatest hits, high school reunions and wardrobes from a more physically active and youthful time, we have setup a museum exhibit of nostalgic memories in our subconscious, and our continuous pursuit to recapture the disposable novelty of first experiences lead by the treasure hunter's map of memory is a neverending exercise in frustration. How can today's decisions be made when we marinate our minds in a distillation of our best times? We trim the fat when we want to remember but forget what we had to work with. We try to make the pain of the past transparent to ourselves but, if pain is the best teacher, why can't we remember where the lesson came from?
Given enough time, novelty is inevitably replaced with nostalgia, either for the sake of reminding at least one other human being where we came from or for reminding ourselves. It is our need to be recognized that drives this behavior. We want to look into a mirror to see the best of what once was but want to use the same mirror as a window with a view of the horizon, but the transition is far less sublime. The transition is rooted in the present.
Experience is a package, not a stock configuration with optional add ons. You can't walk away with the premium wheels and leave the outdated car behind. What would be the point in that? Even worse, expecting those wheels to fit a different car. Yet, we overdose ourselves on nostalgia and it has reached toxic levels. Toxic, because we don't want to acknowledge hardship, and if we don't acknowledge it from verified experience, we can't prepare ourselves for it in the road ahead, taking for granted our accomplishments. Pain co-exists, in harmony even, with the best experiences we will have.
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