Nostalgia is Not the Boss of You

I love Madagascar. The movie, not the country. Well, the country is probably nice too. But the point is that Madagascar, the movie, is a marker of my childhood. It was the only DVD we had in my mother’s Toyota Sienna minivan with the television built into the back of the passenger seat. I would watch that movie over and over; there was a point in time in which I could confidently recite almost every single line of the script. When I turned eight years old, we sold the minivan. In its place, my father bought a used Prius–without a built-in television. This meant the end of Madagascar; I would not watch the movie again for another eight years.

Fast forward to last week: I was reminded of my former love for the movie. I remembered how much I loved every character— though I could not remember exactly what the story was about. All I knew was that I had consumed it incessantly in the car and never got tired of it–so it had to have been good. Being a high school senior has made me do lots of things in the name of nostalgia; rewatching this movie is one of them. I sat down with my friends one night and convinced them that instead of watching something we had never seen before, we should watch Madagascar. 

I think Madagascar is okay. It’s cute and entertaining and funny at times, but my expectations of how riveting it would be were surely not met. In my mind, I envisioned it to be this extravagant, hilarious, and amusing display that would knock my socks off. Now, I was disappointed, and my friends were upset with me. Turns out, eight-year-old me did not have high standards for entertainment. 

The point of that long and convoluted story is to say that we, as a society, let nostalgia control us too much–in more ways than one. On a smaller scale, it prevents us from trying new things for the sake of the comfort and familiarity of the old. For instance, you could be clinging onto old, toxic friends because they’ve been there since middle school, never changing study habits because they used to work in freshman year, or maintaining an old identity as “the funny one” or “the smart one” because everyone liked it back in the day. Or you could be rewatching Madagascar, instead of a better movie you’ve never seen before, just because you used to like it eight years ago. In short, we use nostalgia as justification for stagnation. 

But on a larger scale, nostalgia has the potential to be a dangerous blight to humanity. We reminisce on the past so much that we are sometimes unable to look towards the future; not just in terms of fashion and hairstyles, but also in the context of tradition, laws, and societal roles. If I asked my parents right now what a functional household should look like in today’s day and age, they would say that the husband should go out and make money while the wife takes care of the children and the dog. Thankfully, we live in an era in which this pattern of thought is not only problematic but also offensive to those who like to live separately from their roles at home. 

But there are other ideas that not as many people have taken up issue with–ideas that hinder us as a society from growing and evolving. There are some who think fondly of “the simpler times”; the days in which there was less controversy—when one could say anything they wanted without getting canceled on Twitter. The days in which there wasn’t as much protesting, division, and resistance. While it is regrettable, controversy breeds change. And change is progress. While it may be uncomfortable for those who want everything to remain simple, discomfort is necessary for growth. 

Yes, Madagascar was once my favorite movie. And yes, I miss those times. But I, like those around me, ought to try my best to live in the present and focus on who I want to become rather than who I once was at eight years old.