In a book I have been reading recently, White Noise by Don DeLillo, a character named Murray posits:
I don’t trust anybody’s nostalgia but my own. Nostalgia is a product of dissatisfaction and rage. It’s a settling of grievances between the present and the past. The more powerful the nostalgia, the closer you come to violence.
Have you ever wondered where homesickness comes from? That sweet nostalgic heartache? I have. But what is it that we are missing exactly? Longing for exactly? Is “home” a place or a feeling? A memory or a reality? A person or the idea of a person? Someone we know well or someone we haven’t met yet? A favorite, well-known place, or somewhere we have never been?
A recent article from TIME magazine claims that “People Aren’t Happiest Until They Reach 33.” I thought this was a curious claim, and so decided to look further. According to the article, a study by Friends United, a British social-networking site, “found that 70% of respondents over the age of 40 claimed they were not truly happy until they reached 33.” Continue reading