The Point of No Return

I experience nostalgia often. My tendency is to look back when I'm faced with huge changes, to sort of hang on to some familiar ground where I can be comfortable. Especially in light of the differences in the overall social dynamics of my associates, it's easy to retrospect and dwell on "glory days." During such times, I was nearly always surrounded by close friends. We were in the same place socially, and in life in general. I don't recall feeling as frequently and intensely isolated as I feel now.

When I have those nostalgic thoughts, it's tempting to go through the motions and return to my interests and behaviors from back then, in an effort to relive those experiences. The goal, of course, would be to return to that mental/emotional place of comfort and rediscover myself at my most natural and at-ease state.

There's more than one problem with this, however. Most obviously, at best I would only be able to recreate my own part in that chapter of the story. Everyone else would still be on to other things, and they would likely be less keen to return to the way things used to be. Reliving it would be, in the truest sense, impossible.

More importantly, however, when I'm faced with obvious facts like that, I have to stop and ask myself what it is to which I'd be returning. In this case, recognition of the ways in which I've changed is key. As tempting as it would be to go back to that time and setting of perceived comfort, that's the life I willingly left behind. I know that nostalgia glamorizes the past, and I put that lifestyle behind me for a reason: it wasn't satisfying, even then.

Still, my former things stir in me, and the temptation to return to them is real. And while I believe that there is a way to glorify God with worldly things, that notion is not without its limits. Many of the things from that life do not and cannot represent who I am now, and more importantly, Who I represent. My comforts must be things of God.