Cities are easily stained with the remnants of past lives.
There’s a certain level of familiarity that envelops you when you navigate highly frequented streets. As if an imbedded language of intimacy anonymously clears the path for you to unearth parts of yourself that may be lost. I notice this when I roam New York as a new woman. Each crevice shares with me a memory of the multitudes of people I have been over the years. The people that I continue to harbor but attempt to constrict in the name of progress. I’ve grown since then, grown far past the reckless young-person behavior that made my back sore and my knees weak the second I got my diploma in the mail. But as I continue to walk around the city, I can’t help feeling a sense of admiration for the perseverance of the college soul.
No one in the world has the endurance of the NYU first year trekking to the LES in the dead of winter to grind on some “papi from the Bronx” at Pianos. Or of the sophomore stumbling in stilettos across the cobblestone streets of the Meatpacking District in hopes of catching a B-list celebrity at 1OAK. Of course, we would become more refined with age. We become the Bushwick crew chugging beer and listening to indie music in the apartment of some dude we met on the subway. Or the bougie brunch crew that breathes for bottomless mimosas and still thinks Le Bain is the place to be. The city makes me nostalgic for these lives that I once lived so wholly, and I often wonder how it would’ve been had I stayed in a past version of myself.
Nostalgia for a past self is an interesting concept. In theory, it would be easy for me to digress into the familiarity of who I once was and continue to exist within that familiarity. But lives are rarely defined only by the individual living them – they are defined by the colorful cornucopia of relationships that made the life worth living. And therein lies the essence of my nostalgia. I don’t miss the state of the world from a particular point in my past. Rather, I miss the way I felt navigating the world with certain people that are no longer in my life.
I don’t yearn for these people anymore – it is difficult to ache for personalities that have aged into unfamiliarity over the years. I yearn for the comfort, the anxiety, the pain, and the excitement, of past relationships that built my foundations, sculpted my behaviors, and lead by example.
Like my party friends, who taught me that cis-women are more disadvantaged than cis-men until it comes to getting into clubs for free. And then my acquaintances from psychology class, who taught me that the only reason cis-women can even get into clubs for free is because they’re the commodity that men are buying. A brief introduction to the objectification of women, you could say.
Like my friend’s ex-boyfriend, who taught me about what I deserve in a relationship vs what men might try to sell me as an alternative. Who taught me that there are many forms of abuse, and that friendships can be just as abusive as relationships can. A manual for identifying toxicity.
Like my first romantic interest, who taught me that having a strong emotional connection doesn’t necessarily stabilize a relationship. And then my second romantic interest, who taught me that while fulfilling criteria is deeply satisfying, it is by no means more important than an emotional connection. A lesson in prioritization, and in finding fulfillment in a partner.
I feel an infinite attachment to the people who gave me the experiences that helped me grow from infancy into my next lives. And I feel nostalgic for this process of learning, of defining and re-defining what I didn’t know and what I thought I knew. I think about the volume of people I must’ve interacted with during my tenure in New York City, and how their existence may have impacted me for better or for worse. When I walk those streets now, I see streets painted with the growth and knowledge of people I once knew and feel a sense of purpose and solidarity. I feel a cycle of growth churning within myself, propelling me into the next series of knowledge-bearing relationships that will adorn my city with the depth of a life lived in connectivity.
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