nostalgia (for everything not trending)

Photo by Brandon Hoogenboom on Unsplash

I spent the weekend on the lake with my family. My sister and I went tubing on the boat and then I caught lakeweeds (but no fish) with my five-year-old niece’s Moana fishing pole. This was on Saturday. We didn’t get back to the house until nine. We ate burgers and shakes at the kitchen counter, then went to bed slathered in lotion and with wet wash clothes to soothe our skin. Everyone slept in on Sunday. I made my niece and nephew pancakes with whipped cream. When I left for LA, my face was still red with sun and chapped from tree pollen.

I have a love/hate relationship with my drive to and from my parents’ house in the mountains. I try to visit every six weeks or so, more in the summer months. It’s seven hours from LA if I drive the speed limit and keep my gas/bathroom stop to ten minutes. I was thinking on this past drive about how many times I’ve made the trip, yet I still don’t have “a stop.” I’m always asking Siri where the best gas price is and guessing at which exit I should pull over. You’d think by now I’d have “a stop,” like a local secret for where to find the cheap gas and best snacks. Maybe I’ll make that a goal for the summer.

I hate the drive because I get tired and have to drink two iced coffees, and then I feel gross and jittery at the end of the day. It doesn’t matter how rested I am. I always start with good intentions (finish an audiobook, listen to educational podcasts). Inevitably, I always switch to Spotify somewhere in the middle of I-5 so I can belt out songs in the wind just to keep my eyes open.

And yet, I prefer the drive to flying. I love the gold and green hills and the pink sunsets that stretch across the grapevine when you drop into the city. I love the stretches between exits and how the sky softens in the mountains. When you roll down your window after getting off that last highway exit, the cold air feels like a bath. Nostalgia settles in.

I thought a lot about nostalgia on my drive this weekend—how heat and lake water return me to my childhood; how cigarette smoke and damp sweaters take me back to grad school in London; how smudgy glasses and salt & vinegar chips remind me of all the essays and manuscripts I’ve labored over; how orange trees now feel nostalgic because of this substack.

I also thought about how often I overlook bygone writing and art (my own included) in exchange for whatever feels trendy and new—and I’m nostalgic for these forgotten pieces. Already-published work is too often underrated and tossed aside as we reach out for whatever is “new,” “hot,” and “trendy.” If it’s old, it’s only relevant because of the internet, or because it was loved loved during its time (think: Star Wars, anything by Liane Moriarty, The Beatles, Harry Potter). We don’t re-read books or gravitate towards anything published outside of the past five years unless it’s a classic or something we’ve put off for too long yet it still feels relevant. Like how it took me until recently to watch The White Lotus.

I know I’m generalizing, but I do think there is something to our disregard for the “already published”. We don’t care—or rather, we care less—about the small press books from 2015 or the non-blockbuster movies from ‘05. Anything before the ‘90s feels vintage, making it somehow cooler to engage with, but this disregard seems to go decades back. I can’t name one book I’ve recently read that predates me.

I don’t re-read or reshare my own writing, either—not often, at least. Something about it feels stale and untrue to where I’m at right now. But I think this is the wrong approach to art and creativity. I don’t only want to read something because it was published recently or is a part of the literary canon. Where are the book recommendations for the small press novels published ten or twenty years ago? I want that list.

I also want to appreciate the writing that has come out of me during all seasons of life, even if I feel differently now, even if my voice and style have shifted. I want that from other authors and creators, too. I want to hear and read everything you’ve poured yourself into—not just the pieces picked up by the algorithm.

I think perhaps this is a critical part of art consumption and art production—to revisit the pieces we’re proud of (and the ones we’re not); to read the lesser-known books by our favorite authors, as well as books by authors we’ve never heard of and that no one seems to be talking about. The same sentiment goes for music, movies, design inspiration, etc. etc.

And so I’ve decided I want this summer to be one of creative nostalgia. I want to revisit old writing, listen to the albums I’ve loved and forgotten, and read books by authors who never made it onto an Oprah book rec list.

I’m going to spend the summer repurposing essays I’ve published over the past three years with a note about what it was like to re-read and make any edits to the piece, starting next week. I may sprinkle in a few “dead” essays that are sitting in a folder on my desktop as well. These are pieces that lit mags rejected, and so I’ve deemed them unpublishable.

The Weekly Feels section will include recommendations for “old” and “lesser known” songs, movies, quotes, books, and essays. Like this 2013 album from Andrew Belle. It’s not necessarily lesser-known, but I do forget about it. I listened to it on this past drive and found myself wondering why I don’t revisit it more often.

I’d love to hear from you all, too. So many of you are artists and writers and creators. I’d love to link to or share your previously published (or not) works—both the pieces that make you feel proud and the ones you’re more hesitant about resharing. Send me an email (hit respond to this post), and I will include them in upcoming newsletters. Or you can drop them in the comments below for everyone to see.

I’m calling it the “summer of nostalgia for everything not trending” or maybe just “summer nostalgia for creatives.” Let’s see where this takes us. xx