Convolution and Lucidity

It’s been a bitter winter. Now that Ohio is thawing out for spring, nostalgia hits again—as it does every time the seasons change. In today’s case, it’s just a matter of reminding me of some older video games I’m itching to play again. But let me address the issue of nostalgia from some earlier posts.

What is it about nostalgia that distorts reality? Were the “good old days” really that perfect in comparison to the present? You tend to hold on to the good parts, and the simultaneous bad parts fade in your mind. You end up with a skewed perception of the way things were.

I might have given the impression before that I was putting the good old days on a pedestal. Two years ago, I was having a lot of fun, yes, but there was plenty of bad to go with it. There was nothing idyllic about it.

On my previous posts, “Leave No Man Behind” and “Too Talls Two,” I was only making a tribute to the best parts of those days. I don’t want anyone thinking I’m dwelling on the past.

I don’t like the present, but I would never really try to chase the past. I hated Kirksville, I hated Mostly Live, and I hated the fact that a majority of the nights when a large group of people went out, it ended in some sort of minor drama—that’s bound to happen when over a dozen people get drunk.

Those were the final days of a dying legacy—the Shotokan Karate Club. It was a slow decline, but I still carry the best parts of it with me. It was a glorious, thriving fellowship, and I was part of its final generation. The club had a good run, though—eleven years, I think. Eric Banks, one of the founders, remains my sensei in Kansas City, along with a few of the other “survivors” from my generation. It’s a strange thing to watch something bigger than you fade, while you end up carrying it on. I feel like Obi-Wan Kenobi…

Those were the days I was in limbo about grad school. Those were the days I got royally screwed over by the theater department’s inability to really collaborate with me on their collaboration. Worst of all, those were the days after Linda Bindner's stroke. It wasn’t peaches and cream in 2004. But I had some good comrades.

I don’t know, some of my readers at BG have suggested that I seem to dwell on the past. They advise me to let go, or move on—when in fact I’m highly adaptable. I just cherish some things. I’m always looking ahead. It’s just that the older you get, the more memories you have to sort through, the more chapters you have to look back on. I don’t mean to be wistful. Kirksville is a ghost town.

So there. That’s my huge disclaimer. You see why I hate this blog?