I’ve been thinking a lot about nostalgia lately. Some are fond of calling such reflections “The Good Ol’ Days,” but it’s not always that. Sometimes it was better than we remember; sometimes it was way worse. Even so, for me the crazy thing about nostalgia is its power to reel us in with utter ease. And I’ve come to a realization: nostalgia, when it’s working right, is meant to be visited, not lived in.
Most people don’t take a vacation and say, “Wow, this Airbnb was nice, let’s sell everything and move into this windowless yurt permanently.” But that is exactly what some of us do with the past. We set up emotional bunk beds in a place we were only supposed to pass through. Yet, it’s one thing to remember; and, it’s another to relocate.
I get the fact that the past is seductive. When the present is hard and the future is uncertain, the past shows up like an ex saying, “Hey, remember me? I was the best thing that ever happened to you.” But let’s not forget: “the past” also left its dishes in my sink and forgot my birthday. So, sometimes the best move is to forego revisiting the past or letting it back in at all.
The past is very often viewed as a kind of grass-is-greener-on-the-other-side phenomenon. We all know that syrupy, slow-motion replay we get in our head where everything looks golden and glowy, like a Hallmark card that somehow escaped trauma. But here’s the truth: nostalgia is like Instagram for your memory. It filters out the acne, the yelling, the boredom, the bills, and all the awkward side hugs from people you never liked in the first place.
That’s why stand-up comics often make the best time travelers. We don’t go back to relive. We go back to roast. If something from the past still hurts, we can cry or we can craft a tight five. We, of course, do the latter. And, honestly, it makes all the difference in the world.
As comedians, we need stories. And since stories are the stuff of the past, we’re revisiting the past often. Also, as comedians, we want laughter, which is a form of release. So, when I write bits about my dad ghosting the family in a Firebird or my son shaving for the first time with the delicacy of a man sanding drywall, it’s not because I want to go back. It’s because I want to move forward. And I can’t do that if I pretend the past was perfect.
Stand-up is how we tell the truth about the past, present, and future without needing to stay stuck in the pain of days gone by. Indeed, when we laugh at the past, we’re reclaiming it. But when we live in the past, we’re just repeating it without the ability to change it. That’s what makes nostalgia dangerous. It gives you the illusion of comfort while robbing you of momentum. It edits the pain out and calls it peace.
Don’t get me wrong, remembering is good. Honoring your past matters. So does telling stories, sharing pictures, holding onto tokens that remind you of who you were when life felt lighter. In fact, I’m super fond of the saying, “Remember who you are and where you came from.” But don’t get trapped. Don’t let a younger version of you hold your current self hostage.
The past isn’t bad. It’s just not the place you live anymore. It’s the school you graduated from, not the room you keep renting. It’s the address that made you, not the one that owns you. So here’s my advice as a comedian, for what it’s worth: Laugh at your past. Learn from it. Carry it with you like a funny scar. But don’t let it trick you into thinking it was better than what’s possible now. Because the truth is, we’re living in the good old days right now; we just haven’t realized it yet. And if you want to realize it faster, try writing a joke about the worst year of your life. That’s how you know you’re finally free. And that matters!
Sounds like someone watched K-pop demon hunters!