- Type: TiSe
- Development: l--l
- Attitude: Directive
[…] are all only in the present ‘me’ only insofar as their affects have shaped me and my life, but so very few of them still maintain a reality of their own, a clear vision, or a vivid experience, in my mind and heart. I simply do not have enough information data points in my mind to relive them. They are mostly experienced as a dream that has been mostly forgotten, and that I cannot recall even if I so wish.
I can somewhat relate. This bit, especially: «I simply do not have enough information data points in my mind to relive them». Not exactly, though. In my case, I suspect the datapoints are all there, but to activate them in such a way is pointless to my conscious self, and perhaps, more generally, to my current functioning. (I became aware that I tend to tone down or shut off many of the emotions I experience). Since nostalgia doesn’t make much sense in my head, it looks scary. I mean:
They reminded me of how it felt to be me in different periods of my life
isn’t this scary? For some it isn’t. Some seem to enjoy nostalgia, both in its “nice” and “painful” shades. Some people seem to “experience” their memories as they recall them (face, voice, gestures change). I don’t even like the single idea of this. Past is in the past; you can abstract from it. The information it provides you with are certainly useful, but the emotional contamination? I remember what it means to be in love (it happened once), for example; I remember it rationally, and I can tell what kind of emotions I experienced then and describe it all by observing my past-self, but I don’t need to re-experience them and, above all, don’t want to — because it doesn’t make sense! Why should I live the present by confusing it with the past? And this is what recurring nostalgia looks like to me: you don’t feel you’re “you” but “fragments of you” scattered along the duct of time. Some people’s identity is deeply rooted in their memories — they identify with their past — and, at the extremes, they can’t let the past go and can’t make sense of the present. Gosh, this is making me feel dizzy. Of course there’s “progress” (I perceive myself as rather “linear” and have spent much time analyzing my “story” to understand my-self, and I also value and “investigate” others’ stories for the same reason) between the past and the present; that’s necessity. So, why the contamination?
I’d like others to share their pov.