Rosy Retrospection

“When it’s not there, you wish it is. When it’s there, you wish it’s not.”

I read a study the other day on the subject of rosy retrospection, or remembering the past more positively than the true experience at the time. In the investigation, researchers evaluated people’s thoughts before, during, and after an exciting event, like a vacation to Europe. They found that participants’ “expectations of personal events are more positive than their actual experience during the event itself, and their subsequent recollection of that event is more positive than the actual experience.” I’ve seen this phenomenon play out in my personal life time and time again, especially with school. I’ve always had a love-hate relationship with school, and being in my last year of high school has only exacerbated this rollercoaster relationship. In the summer, I get lonely and want so badly to be able to see people and learn new things five days a week again. In the fall, I realize how draining this reality is. By the winter, I settle comfortably into my routine, but yearn for a break from the work. In spring, school tends to lose its excitement, and I want summer to come quickly. And then it’s summer again, and I am still unsatisfied. One of my favorite songs goes on about something like this—“When it’s not there, you wish it is. When it’s there, you wish it’s not.” 

Two weeks ago, I went to the Library of Congress, the United States’ de facto national library. The Library is physically beautiful, but the real beauty is, of course, the breadth of knowledge its buildings hold. The Library has 171 million items: books, records, newspapers, films, music, etc. As I sat in one of the alcoves of the Main Reading Room, my sense of awe came with a bit of melancholy. At that moment, I wished I knew more. I felt like I didn't know enough to fully appreciate every word of the 56,000 volumes that lined the shelves around me. I read some of the psychology books they had and vowed to myself that I would come back when I was smarter. By the time we left the room, I had transformed my regret into motivation. I want to come back here when these books will mean more to me. I want to come back 5, 10, 30, and 50 years from now. I want to continue learning.

The Library, Jacob Lawrence (1960)

Circling back to my love-hate relationship with school, the realization that I want to continue learning felt weird. To view chasing knowledge on my own and taking in knowledge through school as mutually exclusive is difficult. There isn't enough time in the day (for me, at least) to go to school, do my work, learn for my own sake, and be happy and healthy at the same time. Instead, I am trying to find a balance. If I can learn to see my classes as blessings and not curses, I think I will open myself up to a new world of knowledge. This is no easy feat, between having to maintain grades and take assessments, but I am trying my best to weave excitement into my education. 

I really can’t remember who it was, but I was speaking about applying to college with someone once, and what shocked me was how excited they sounded for me. Between myself and those around me, talking about college is something we’d rather avoid, a stress-filled subject. But this person seemed so genuinely excited for me and my future. They reminded me that my college years are supposed to be exciting. It’s embarrassing, but that is something that I had forgotten.  I am trying to disassociate it from my fear of the future, and reassociate it with getting an opportunity to learn what I love and enter the world on my own. It all feels idealistic—college is hard, and I will struggle. I will take horrible classes, hard classes, and classes I won’t care about. I will have to learn how to be my own person. But if I keep these fears at the forefront of my mind, I will lose my reason to keep trying and keep going. I will take enlightening classes, fun classes, and classes I’ll remember for the rest of my life. I’ll make new friends, get to learn more about what invigorates me, and have so much fun. This is what I want to remember as I think about the future. 

The Thomas Jefferson Building of the Library of Congress

I am reminded of a poem that my English teacher shared with us on the last day of school:

When I Heard the Learn’d Astronomer

BY WALT WHITMAN

When I heard the learn’d astronomer,

When the proofs, the figures, were ranged in columns before me,

When I was shown the charts and diagrams, to add, divide, and measure them,

When I sitting heard the astronomer where he lectured with much applause in the lecture-room,

How soon unaccountable I became tired and sick,

Till rising and gliding out I wander’d off by myself,

In the mystical moist night-air, and from time to time,

Look’d up in perfect silence at the stars.

We talked about how the poem could be interpreted in two ways. The first says that learning firsthand is more beneficial than learning through an institution. The second says that the learning done in institutions can be used to supplement our firsthand experiences and make them more meaningful. Most of all, both interpretations support the necessity of learning both from someone else and by yourself. I will hold these words with me as I live through my last year of high school.

Here are some Good Things!

• I got my license!

• This poem and this poem

• This article

• Miss Congeniality (2000)

• Traumazine (favs are Ungrateful, Budget, and Anxiety) 

• This song, this song, and this song! 

Love,

Aarushi.