I've been having a lot of trouble getting things done lately. Although I probably would have lost focus by this point in the semester regardless of circumstance, I like to blame the weather for my troubles.
Spring is, by far, my favorite season. A season of change, it rescues us from the suffering that has come of a long, cold winter. As the weather starts to get nice, being cooped up becomes increasingly difficult — everyone is drawn outside by the warm temperatures and long-lost sunshine that make these days feel heavenly. It almost seems as if Mother Nature is apologizing to us for the excessive punishment she's inflicted over the past four months.
There might not be a prettier sight than that of people lounging around Library Mall, the Union terrace or Bascom Hill, simply enjoying their reintroduction to the outdoors. For once, however short-lived, there is unity among us, everyone happily embracing this pleasant upturn in our lives.
For me, however, a springtime reemergence from mental reclusion is more prominent than its physical counterpart. When this season rolls around, for whatever reason, my head always swells with recollections of previous springs.
Despite the cheerfulness and optimism that overcome me this time of year, one emotion seems to overpower all others: nostalgia. Spring brings back memories of people, things and events from the past. My time management can hardly be called effective in any season, but when conditions begin to improve outside, half of my waking hours are spent daydreaming about how things were during earlier stages of my life.
The prospect of dwelling on the past is something I've always been deathly afraid of, but when life is a constant drive forward, it's easy to fall into an opposite trap — entirely neglecting memories of where you've been. Although neither is an attractive option, completely ignoring the past is probably worse than dwelling on it. In reality, reminiscing about the way things used to be is arguably the best way to know who you are and what you want in life.
When I recall springs past, I think of playing driveway basketball with my brother, pursuing a massive high school crush (a pursuit whose lack of success I lament to this day) and participating in illicit and irrational behavior with my friends for no purpose other than to avoid getting caught. I can remember lying on the grass in my back yard after dinner, making elaborate summer plans that would never materialize, and numerous instances in which last-ditch efforts were made — sometimes futilely — to compensate for entire semesters of academic negligence. It's strange how, with time, even the bad memories start to feel good.
The point is this: we spend countless hours each day worrying about what the future might bring and, yet, hesitate to spend a single minute reminiscing. We're too busy for our own good — only so much time remains in college and, overall, 25 percent of our lifetimes are gone. Meanwhile, we hardly even consider how much we've already been through. It's no surprise that elderly people so often bemoan lost time — they've finally realized what we won't for years: life goes by quickly.
Come May, everything will march on. Seniors will get their diplomas, grades will be determined and summer jobs will begin. There will never be a time allocated specifically for reflection. Now is as good as any.
The last thing I need is another lecture about the importance of the future — my life has already become a nightmare of contemplation over what will happen after I shake the chancellor's hand. For once, however, it would be nice to hear somebody reminding everyone to take just a second, sit back, relax and indulge in a big, healthy dose of nostalgia.
Rob Rossmeissl ([email protected]) is a junior majoring in journalism and political science.
