stop and smell the nostalgia

At an RA meeting a month or so ago, our boss started off, as he usually does, with an icebreaker. Sometimes it’s making party hats, which we’re then required to wear because he’s convinced this will bring our energy up. Other times, it’s a simple word game: give me 1 word that describes how you’re feeling.

One time, we pow-wowed in the back room— tent, smores, head band lights, nature sounds CD and all. I was totally for it, until my legs fell asleep, tucked awkwardly, trying to keep my feet out of everyone’ s odor radar. At this meeting though, he started off by asking: When do you feel most alive? It was one of the easiest hard questions I’ve ever had to answer.

“When I feel nostalgic.”

I recognize there’s something intrinsically charming about summer air, but what I can’t get over is how it takes me back to the summer before, and the summer before that, all the way back to summers spent playing whiffle ball in Grandpa’s backyard. I feel most alive when I’m transported back to the past without trying. It never gets old either.

Today was one of those days—the light winds, the freshness, the sounds of cars driving through thick summer air. Every time I breathed in, I was energized, remembering the feel of Erie summers, but also recognizing that next year, I’d be remembering the feel of Philadelphia summers…and the Erie summer before that, and so on.