As I looked back this year, I noticed I had a lot of good moments that transformed into very happy memories. But strangely, I felt an unsettling emotion that was closer to grief than it was to joy.
Just scrolling through my camera roll and listing my highlights for the year hit me with a deep sense of nostalgia, the kind that lingers and eventually transforms into sorrow.
How can I let such extraordinary, unique, and wholesome memories turn into something so melancholic? Why am I letting the sweetest fruits of memory rot into bitterness?
After a few days of circling with this question, I finally understood my own (flawed) reasoning: Given that good memories produce nostalgia, and nostalgia is characterized by sadness, it necessarily follows that good memories produce sadness.
So, I’m redefining how I think about good memories.
I think good memories should be talked about often—not just in private contemplation, but in open celebration. By returning to the small details that made a moment special, we strengthen the experience itself. Just as exercise nourishes the body, rehearsing these moments fortifies the mind, allowing past joys to shape us in ways we couldn't have anticipated when we first lived them.
I want to find myself continuously smiling without realizing it, caught off guard by my own recollections. That is when I’ll understand that the real purpose of these moments was to help shape us.
To build our identities.
I want to continuously say that I am who I am today because of how good life has been to me. I am a whole and content person who contains a multitude of magnificent experiences.
New experiences won’t be the same–that I know, but I won’t be the same either.
I’ll be the result of these good memories.
As Seneca said, "Let us cease grieving but persevere in remembering."