Tag: Nostalgia
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The Magic Bandits – Part One
Reality has once again set in. I am a grown man, I have a job, a loving wife, a kid on the way, and many bills to pay. Also apparently a poet and I… well you get the gist. I love my life with its educating difficulties and well-earned joys, and even still, find myself daydreaming about yesteryear, or in this case, yesterweek. Just two weeks before writing this post, my brother and I made the journey to Orlando, Florida for a milestone adventure 38 years in the making. The two of us, both grown adults, father and father to be, made the decision to activate our inner wonder one more time before the next true journey begins, and planned a trip to Disney World and Universal Studios. Although we had visited a few times as children, this quest would mark the first time we had both sought to define our schedule and adventure on our own terms.
Not to say this was the first time we tried. Just two years ago, the same trip had been planned, my cousins and good friend along for the ride. However it was not to be, and the coronavirus struck with a vengeance, sending my brother to bed for what had originally aimed to be a week of freewheeling fun. His week instead consisted of staring at a wall, sweating out fevers, and feeding off of Panera Bread sandwiches. I kindly offered to live stream some rides to him, a half-jested offer which was met only with blank glassy eyed stares punctuated by a hacking cough.
I was able to visit the parks with my two cousins, realizing a dream we had as young children which was an absolute win. However, my brother and I committed to ourselves that we would attempt again, and two years later it was accomplished.
You might ask yourself why two grown men find Disney World so alluring. For us it represents a simpler time both in our lives and the world. The escapism offered by the parks’ inviting vistas and comfortable corners allows one to forget what is outside their walls, even as a child. And on January 10th, we made our return. It was a return not without challenge, and I found myself having to rebook flights in order to navigate the gestating mass of a snow storm in Atlanta, but when I at last broke through, I was once again transported to another world.
As the curtains of snow parted, I landed in Orlando, and walked out the airport doors to be greeted by both my brother and a fresh wall of Florida humidity. We checked into our hotel and began running through the packed itinerary of our trip, slapping on our gear, and revisiting old stories with the hindsight offered by adulthood; Our shared goal: Stealing back a piece of our imagination fueled childhood.
Returning to the parks makes one feel as if they have never left, and Disney enthusiast or casual visitor, it is hard to resist its appeal to innocence and fantasy.
Strapped to our wrists at the start were Star Wars themed “Magic Bands”, Disney World’s solution for contactless admission options and enhanced interactive experiences. Neither of us put much thought into how these devices might put an interesting spin on this current escapade. I bought them mostly out of my completionist tendency and desire to maximize my experience as intended by the park creators. Someone else might look at this as me sinking into the pit of money sucking commercialism with my head barely above water. And yes, I’m absolutely here for it. Let me drown.
Let me take it all in. Let me marvel at the carefully designed environments in overly long queues. Show me the contractually obligated pre-show roles of last years great movie stars. Feed me the overpriced burgers. Show me the ultimate experience as the creator intended and force me to bask in a story told through dark ride and dreamscape. Let me blast through a tunnel, hang from my seat and teeter on the edge of fatality.
And so we did for a week, of course backed by our own non stop commentary, jokes, and reminiscence of the past as we remembered it. It was certainly a week for the personal history books, with new memories solidified, and two brothers straining extremely hard to be kids again. And you know what? I think it might have worked.
~R.A.
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Past is Perfect
What is it that truly defines nostalgia? What is it that creates a core memory and leads us to hold it dear, to reflect back on the small moments? Is it the joy that we felt in that single instant? Is it a unique experience we have never had since, beckoning us backward with its fleeting, momentary allure? Perhaps it is the fact that these past events can never be revisited. Our childhood is lost, but we allow ourselves to tap into it from time to time, daring to wonder if we can feel that same sense of peace and joy, that everything was right with the world and always will be.
Adulthood comes with it a multitude of responsibilities, new stresses, and unforeseen challenges, but I argue that this does not mean one can’t yet dare to dream. The kindling of yesteryear may have been burned, but still leaves fragments for us to sample and reignite.
Much of my life has been dedicated to cherishing storytelling in all media forms, whether it be video games, film, and in the written word. I have often labeled myself a curator of sorts, and maybe that is simply me being kind to myself. An obsessive collector’s spirit also needs an outlet, a form of organization, lest it transform into the garish act of hoarding. Collecting these stories ensures, in my mind, that they never disappear, dissipating into so much digital vapor in the ever changing world of cyber in which we now find ourselves enthralled.
Yet, I would be remiss to ignore the valuable experiences life itself has to offer. While stories are ours to hold and revisit, they truly only belong to the author itself, and we are granted permission to peer in a window to their soul. In our daily lives, we write our own stories, not with a pen, but with our actions, our words, and our relationships. Through these stories, we add to the greater ouvre of humanity, and our beginnings and endings are only a small part of the infinite pages that flow forth.
And so it is, that in my life I have found both value in the stories of others, both those they choose to share in concrete form, and those they present with the mere existence of their being. Most importantly, I find value in my own. I am nostalgic for moments in time that were experienced 30 years past, and often only a week prior to the instance in which I ruminate on them. They inform who I am, and who I am yet to be.
For a moment to exist, it must be felt, and for others to share in its wonder, its story must be told. A book, a disc, a photograph, a word, or a sound; All of these items are concrete stimuli to activate emotions in the beholder. The purpose of these very words and those to follow, may be left up to personal interpretation. If they activate a liminal sense of a moment once experienced, then their purpose may be fulfilled.
I begin here to curate a collection of moments, adventures, and happenstance. Like loose pebbles caught in a tide flowing forth over the craggy scape of my mind, these moments can be recalled at random or with the slightest of stimuli. Perhaps here they will at last find purchase and settle.
~R.A.
The Nostalgia Chronicle 