By: Jordan Koehnke

I feel like I have this ever-present tendency to view the world through the lens of a child. To set the record straight, I still very much view myself as the equivalent of a toddler - don't get me wrong. I mean in a way where I have this itch to do something like fly a kite or go to an indoor trampoline park. The funny thing about all of this is that suddenly - without any forewarning or ample notice - you are in the wrong for simply growing up. These numerical values conveyed as "milestones" in adulthood are genuinely not an adequate indicator of when you are suddenly perceived as an adult.

Superfluous thoughts about all of that aside, along came a woman named Tracy. To set the record straight on Tracy, she is very much also the equivalent of a toddler. Yes, she cries, pouts, and eats cheese broccoli - yet the world through her lens exists so colorfully, imaginative, and definitively hopeful. Tracy has this magical way of simply existing - regardless of whether anyone around her may agree with how she is doing it.

About a year and a half ago, Tracy and I embarked on what - now looking back - resembled that of pre-teen activities. More specifically, we began to take on skateboarding. We would take our skateboards to a local middle school parking lot - a parking lot that neighbored a community park and was near a large wall that was tagged in black spray paint with each of the characters from Diary of a Wimpy Kid. Somewhere in between this dimly lit parking lot and the frequent consumption of Del Taco - we had found our place. Tracy and I created our little sanctuary to document our milestones at the height of a global pandemic.

Eventually, this place served as an excuse to meet - where the question, "do you want to skate?" became our understood language for each of our respective cries for help. Neither of us hardly had the answers for one another. Neither of us also possessed any sort of innate ability to skate. Nonetheless, we showed up, and we listened. We listened to the trials and tribulations of jobs, social inequities, relationships, and the life we were living. Throughout my time in this place, Tracy reminded me that we are allowed to be young. We are entitled to exist in this space regardless of whether we have any sort of grasp on anything going on within it. We managed to create a space where our youth and future selves could be celebrated. I think Jeff Kinney would be proud of us.

It is with these moments I can't help but relish in the nostalgia of it all. Fast forward a year and a half from said recollections with Tracy, to now having it feel like my existence as of late has been composed entirely of nostalgia. Nostalgia in itself is innate in human nature. Humans tend to dwell on the past because it is the only concrete recollection of varying occurrences throughout our lives. The present, or better yet, the future, is wildly uncertain. The past has a way of being skewed to make it seem much better than it was. With the ability to pinpoint and reassess moments in one's life, nostalgia can assist in casting a shinier, more colorful lens on the past.

Not to say we should completely disregard these beautiful memories we have constructed throughout the varying seasons of our life. Still, we should rather rephrase the narrative in our heads that shines the past in this disregarding, forgiving light. Half of these moments I shared with Tracy brought up some of the darkest, most unearthing times in my life thus far.

Nostalgia can sometimes become part of me and shift my perspective to dwell on only the good - the best. I need not forget that these moments, although valuable in their regard, also possess such vigor and a recognizable need for change. The in-between moments our nostalgic brains do not ponder tend to be the driving force in shifting a perspective. Reflecting is the only thing we can do to change our future. Nostalgia is beautiful, good, and a fundamental component of human nature. Let us not forget that nostalgia - with time - will become that of the future.

Time was still in existence then, yet it exists in such a drastically distinguishable way now. It is wild to think how nostalgia comes to be. Such a word is encapsulated by the contingency that something that once exists will become a distant memory. I can't help but sit and ponder - ponder the reasons as to why some versions of nostalgia are larger than others. Versions in which I would not expect to possess such value.

Tracy is one of those larger nostalgias. I need not forget that these moments, although blissfully raw upon recollection, were some of the strongest moments of self-reflection I have yet to force myself to take part in. I hope to take with me the notion of preserving the memories I hold so fondly, yet also remembering the reality of the weight I felt in these moments. Whether in friendships, romantic relationships, or even with myself, I choose to see the good, yet I also choose to see the real. What is real may not always be good. What is good may not always be real. For now, I decide to choose the real, for the real will allow me to do better - to be better.