I’m fairly sure many of you can recall at least one nostalgic anecdote. They may be different, but that makes it special.
The dictionary defines it as “sentimental longing,” but I like to think of it as a bittersweet memory, forcing us to recall all the meticulous details, even some that are unfavorable.
One of my earliest memories is from T-Ball in Selma. It’s here that I fell in love with sports, but also the joy and struggles that go with them.
Most notably from this community league, I remember from my position: I would simply stand with my right arm tucked under my left, with my glove facing upwards, as if expecting the ball to come right to me.
I admit, I was not the brightest and did not fully comprehend the goal of the game, but I began to understand commitment, passion, and friendship.
As I aged, I came to realize the stresses of playing multiple sports which overlapped in seasons. The frantic moments when I was forced to leave baseball 30 minutes early to get to soccer practice 30 minutes late, or asking the head swim coach if I could leave 10 minutes before the end of practice so I could dry off and change on the way to baseball.
Although at the time, I resented these, I now manage to grasp the beauty of them.
This sense of nostalgia may seem broad, as it comprises all the franticness of life between sports, but I strongly believe such experiences allowed me to learn essential skills, like time management, and build the confidence for communication with authority figures – such as coaches.
Waking up at 7 AM on a Saturday morning, knowing you pressed the “snooze” button once or twice, the realization of such an error and the heart-dropping moment when you recall you have a soccer game at 8:30, will be forever ingrained in my mind.
Hastily putting on your uniform, shin guards, cleats, walking out to the car as your bare skin feels the icy morning breeze of winter. That, coupled with the post-game mentioning from your parents that in less than an hour, you have a baseball game in another town or a swim meet which will take about eight hours; that’s something so incredibly surreal that I feel everyone should experience at least once.
I don’t mean to digress, but I feel the sensory details make my memories much more immersive. Otherwise trivial things, like the heavy breaths that showed in the cold air as we warmed up on one of those numerous days, were my favorite. From a pragmatic perspective, it was subpar to play in such conditions, as it takes longer to warm up one’s muscles and could give people colds, but the unrelenting bliss of the moment clouded that judgment.
Now, I realize that the aforementioned recollection may seem out of touch to many readers. I must explain that such empathy often requires firsthand experience. It’s highly probable that many hold other life occurrences dear to them, like the first world they created in Minecraft or the unique Lego builds from childhood.
To me though, there was nothing like the anxious night before a baseball game or swim meet, being lectured on what to eat in preparation and doing a late-night weight workout.
Now that I don’t do as many sports – and they usually don’t overlap – sacrificing fitness for a commitment to school work, I can’t help but wish for simpler times. Don’t misinterpret that as in regards to the globe’s status during those years; rather, view it as part of my little world.
You must know that nostalgia for 16-year-olds often goes back a mere decade, so I choose to take these recollections with a grain of salt. Some day, we may reminisce about time spent at school, with friends or family, as that’s what most of our lives consist of these days.
Things that people don’t appreciate until they’re gone; to me, that’s what defines nostalgia. When remembering them brings up a bittersweet feeling of longing – but also somberness – and you know it only happens once. That’s a cherished moment.
