Tag Archives: time machine

If Wishes Were Granted

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If somehow, miraculously presented with a superpower, I wouldn’t want to fly, be invisible, or possess Herculean strength; I would like to look back at specific times in the past to recapture the feelings of those singular, fleeting moments that shaped and sculpted the unformed mound of raw clay that eventually made me.

To stand in the shoes of a younger version of myself and watch the world with that familiar sense of awe and wonder I felt when I first found my footing, and to walk those steps with the same eager, hopeful anticipation for what’s waiting around the next corner to entice, surprise, or educate would be a profound experience.

The question remains: Do I want to be an active participant who momentarily occupies the body of my junior version, with the ability to influence the future by altering the past…or would I feel better as a silent observer, simply taking in the scene with a detached sense of cheery nostalgia?

I suppose the potential to modify future (present) events could be a tricky business. How could I resist zipping in and out of crucial stumbling blocks or the bumps and bruises of adolescence to rewrite the rules of cool and smooth out the copious wrinkles that ruffled my feathers or occasionally turned that awkward meter up to eleven?

But without the growing pains and ever-present sidewalk-tripping of those formative years, can we truly appreciate the finish line? If life is fundamentally about the journey and not the destination—and that journey has been edited and airbrushed to the point of being unrecognizable—would we still accept that artificiality as reality?

Still, recapturing the essence of some of those wild nights or nascent seconds of fascination for what was possible or achievable and feel it electrically charge my bones again, even briefly, would paint a pretty pleasant visit back to better days.

It might even make it reasonably difficult to return to now.

Adolescence Interrupted

Aural Nostalgia

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Memories are a funny business. Part time machine and part flashback, these little mental home movies can nimbly provide instant transportation to an altered, familiar feeling. 

This might be a welcome return to better days or a visit to some unfortunate moment better left forgotten. Either way, the right catalyst can be like jet fuel to the hippocampus.

Smells are a powerful trigger, and I’ve certainly fallen victim to their wily manipulation. But for me, it’s always been sound. Music is immediate and often overwhelming. Sometimes even one note is enough to catapult me back.

So when a treasure trove of chemical-inducing nostalgia arrived in my podcast feed, it’s safe to say I was a little curious.

But after devoting nearly 200 listening hours to this endeavor, I’m clearly past the point of inquisitiveness.

Rob Harvilla is a storyteller of the highest order. Mixing fanboy sentimentalism with a depth of music knowledge that could put veteran Rolling Stone staff writers to shame, Harvilla finds the warm center inside his selections each week. The often circuitous route he takes to arrive at the podcast’s featured artist is probably the best part.

Weaving references from wholly unrelated genres, decades, or musical styles to find common ground with a familiar hit from our (my) teenage years is shockingly clever. He can spend a quarter of the pod deep-diving into banned or controversial songs during the hip-hop “Parental Advisory” CD sticker era and ultimately land on Rage Against the Machine, or start with a “Shaun of the Dead” reference and a discussion about vinyl collections before unveiling his pick of the week as The Verve. It’s incredible how effortlessly and seamlessly he’s able to bring disparate pieces together to paint a complete picture.

But the real magic is what happens when the clips start playing. Even in 10-second increments, I’m abruptly slingshotting between my formative years and the present day. There’s almost a little twinge of sadness every time the short section of the song stops playing because reality returns.

I am no stranger to the pastime of living in past times. My life was full and fun and wide open with hope and possibility. I spent my days in a perpetual state of bliss and enthusiasm for whatever adventure waited for me around the next turn. I knew what kind of asphalt and concrete made the road that stretched out before me and I walked it without worry, hesitation, projection, or dread. It was the polar opposite of how my legs move today.

So drifting back, even momentarily, to a time when the world felt like a never-ending row of wide-open doors and limitless green traffic lights isn’t the worst way to spend an afternoon.

Thanks, Rob.

Adolescence Interrupted

Setting a Junior High Bar

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“Nostalgia is a powerful drug. Under its influence, ordinary songs take on dimensions and powers, like emotional superheroes.”  —Kate Christensen

“Nostalgia is a file that removes the rough edges from the good old days.” —Doug Larson

“I don’t like nostalgia unless it’s mine.” —Lou Reed

Before the loss of innocence. When everything mattered, and the world was new and full of exciting prospects. Before the feuding and frustration. Before jaded took the place of buoyant optimism. Before the fall…there was a constant, tireless climb.

This ethereal energy resides in a space without adequate words for accurate descriptions. It lives in the music we run on a loop, the smells and sounds of youth and freedom, and the flashback bang of sudden reminiscence. Sensations wake hibernating butterflies like an instant time machine transportation to moments when our brains were buzzing with bottomless questions and our eyes were painting vivid, multicolored landscapes onto the blank canvases of our consciousness.

To peak at 13 is nothing to brag about, but it’s hard to deny the reality that those “possibility days” were filled with so much more substance, wonder, and potential than the current “every days.” This regular inclination to return to what feels familiar and safe is proof of the power of those vital, formative years. There is an undeniable pull to revisit the psychological head spaces that were inviting and secure, especially since the modern world has become an unpredictable, toxic, and addicted cesspool of anger, abuse, greed, and inequality.

So what’s the move? If we’re stuck standing in the here and now, unable to revert to our former selves, the only salve is memory-strolling through the lighter days and appreciating the fact that they existed in the first place.

Maybe they weren’t supposed to last forever, but nostalgia keeps us chasing that carrot and fighting for even a fleeting glimpse of those first feelings.

Mental snapshots are a lot heavier than JPEGs.

Snap away whenever you can.

Adolescence Interrupted