Nostalgia in evermore and Liminal Spaces

What do you call the nostalgia for a memory that is not your own? I like to call it an echo of heartache. And I crave it. Constantly. 

All the content I consume fills that nostalgic wish in some form. I have a feeling it does the same for you. This nostalgia is present in the return of fanny packs, bike shorts and chunky sneakers. A friend of mine once did a whole presentation on the 20-year-trend cycle. He cited Amblin films and kids on bikes. It’s why Stranger Things is huge. Other magazines have analyzed said cycle thoroughly. Why are we so desperate as a species to bring trends back? 

Nostalgia is a compound word: nóstos, meaning “homecoming,” and álgos, meaning “ache.” Basically, we ache to go home. 

Let me tell you about my coming home. I’m sure many of you reading this also experienced the safety and shame one feels when returning home. While I was away, I ached for it. When I’m here, I want to go. All movies, TV, art and music I consume feeds this nostalgia and makes me sad (which, according to Doctor Who, is happy for deep people). 

Especially the music. My God, the music.

At the beginning of last summer, I was packing up part of my life in Georgia, after having recently graduated with my Master’s. The pandemic hit, I lost my job—as millions of others did—and moved back to my hometown. I had it good. Savings, my cat, a warm house, and my immediate family living nearby. 

I stayed busy. We all tried to stay busy. I unpacked and settled, applied to jobs, worked on my writing projects, built a Little Free Library with my dad, and, all the while, listened to music. I think my Spotify Wrapped capped my listening time at 87k. 

I’m sure you have a guess as to an artist who was included.

Taylor Swift—from the get-go—is a master at writing and presenting these intricately specific memories in an accessible and meaningful way. It’s monotonous to go through now; we all know it’s true. I mean, even I’ve felt 22. Not all of us are able to sympathize with every experience she’s gone through, yet we empathize. 

With her dive into fictional song-telling, her world of nostalgia has opened wider. Talk about displacement and having memories which are not your own. Her eighth album, folklore, hit me like a ton of bricks. Granted, her entire discography transcends into people’s personal/emotional/spiritual havoc, but I would argue (I know I’m not the first) that these narrative albums connect to each of us on another level, despite their being fictional. 

I’m looking at you--august and ‘tis the damn season--specifically. 

Never have I ever had a summer fling. But Swift made me feel like I have. She’s got me wanting a “meet me behind the mall” tattoo, and I always hated the mall. Hated the fluorescent lights and perfumed air. Hated shopping. 

I can feel the memory of august, even though it’s not my own memory. I can feel the beach, the sunsets, tangled sheets and empty parking lots. Someone sneaking out the back of the mall to give me a kiss. But it’s not mine. I think past me always imagined a version of this in my future. When I never had it, I looked back wistfully. Like I was looking for the one that got away. Maybe Swift was right in this song: “wanting was enough.” I packed up that feeling and listened to the next song.

Never have I ever had a holiday fling. I traveled out of state for grad school and when I’d return home for the holidays, I’d prepare for the onslaught of proving myself since I had left home. Even though it was now a once-upon-a-time home and a place I swore I’d never live in again. But maybe, just once, the trip home for the holidays would reunite me with an old friend/flame who didn’t need me to prove myself, but just to sit by their side as we drove through the backroads of our childhood and the city we claimed we hated. Somewhere along the way, perhaps that hate would change to love. 

When evermore came out, I told a friend that I had always imagined a version of my life where I came home for the holidays and experienced this. “It’s almost nostalgic for an alternate life,” I typed. And I remembered I felt this way towards august at the end of last summer. How a large percentage of my life is wishing for an alternate one and how I wish that wasn’t the case. 

I may never have experienced it, but I can feel the memory of ‘tis the damn season. I can feel the brisk wind while walking down main street in a small town, driving down backroads as high school jams play through the speakers. Getting drunk on eggnog and meeting up in parking lots of old haunts. I can feel the yearning and the expectations, but also the lack of them. Because a fling like that (whether with person or place) means no expectations and no promises, and I think right now, that’s all I can give. 

Life has taken me down so many roads, but I feel as though I’ve only wanted one road that leads to that one person or place. Because of circumstances, I’m stuck in this weird transition. I’m stuck in a parking lot. 

Parking lots are liminal spaces. Parking lots mean you’re either coming or going. And, for me personally, there’s a sense of nostalgia in every parking lot. (I follow a liminal spaces Twitter for the sole purpose of feeling occasional nostalgia). And these empty or full parking lots play into both tracks from Swift. “Meet me behind the mall,” and “I parked my car right between the Methodist and the school that used to be ours.” These songs embody transitional moments in life and bittersweet, liminal relationships. 

It may not be reality for me, but it’s comforting to know Swift can present a version of my non-life for me to dwell on when I most need it. Maybe this form of nostalgia can be unhealthy, but I honestly have no energy to care. The past year has taken so much from all of us, and if two of the highlights continue to be Swift’s new albums, then I’ll live in those worlds as much as I want. 

As the holidays end, I’ve been memorizing and tucking away how it feels to live at home again during this time. Holidays bear a nostalgic air for all of us. Some more bittersweet than others. The holidays mean finding that sweatshirt in your parent’s closet when you’re freezing in the middle of the night. Nostalgia means never taking it off during the time you’re there. 

Personally, I’ve experienced joy, loss, and even the stress of working retail this past month. It’s strange being back in my parents’ house after so many years, when I know I’m not leaving at the end of holidays. It’s a prolonged transition so it makes it difficult to close chapters and find closure. Fortunately, it’s allowed me to reflect and dwell on these alternate lives and versions of my past. 

Maybe there is a hometown I’ve never known. I only hope I’m headed towards it.