The Good Old Days

Were they? Good, I mean. Our minister this morning spoke of nostalgia at holiday time. A longing for a simpler, happier time. But when were those days? Were they the Ozzie and Harriet days of the 40s and 50s? Well, not if you were African American in those days, especially in the segregated South. Not if you were a single mother whose career opportunities were pretty much limited to being a teacher, a nurse, or a secretary. Not if you lived in a part of the world still reeling from the devastation of war, the lingering effects of nuclear fallout, the hunger of famine, the terror of politically motivated genocide.

Right now, while some folks are yearning for a return to what they recall as a happier time, others are celebrating these days as the good days. Luck changes, tides ebb and flow, fortunes are made and lost. In my Shambhala meditation training, our current contemplation topic is “Everything is impermanent.” That is true of nothing more than it is of the past.

We think the past is set in stone, but how many times has history been rewritten? Not just world or national history, even our own history. I wrote before of spending the evening listening to my mother entertain my friends with tales of a childhood I couldn’t even begin to recognize as mine. And I myself have viewed my past differently with the passage of time.

A Course in Miracles teaches, “The only wholly true thought we can hold about the past is that it is not here.” And yet we spend so much time there, in the past – remembering, reliving, regretting, rewriting, reminiscing. Whether it is a pleasant place to visit or a place of sorrow, we still go there, living in a dream that is gone.

Meanwhile, we’re missing the only life we really have, this life, right now. We have all read about or known people who have had a brush with death, or who are nearing the end of their lives. What we hear from these people over and over is to treasure this moment, the gift of this breath, the miracle of this instant. And this one.

Does that mean we should never enjoy our memories? Of course not. The memory of a stunning sunset, the tender touch of a loved one no longer here, a child’s first steps – all these bring a smile to our face and warmth to our hearts. But when a stroll down memory lane becomes a permanent residence, we are no longer present for our lives and for those who love us and need us now.

So how do we break the grip the past has on us? Gently. By noticing when we are lost in the past, whether in pleasant reverie or painful remorse. By reminding ourselves that our past is a story we tell ourselves, a story we can change or simply drop. By bringing our attention back to the present. Again and again. By practicing until it becomes a habit. By practicing, as Pema Chodron says, “like our hair was on fire.”

Good old days or bad old days are not today days. So if you do visit your stories of the past, remember to come home soon.