Nostalgia Is a Liar
It’s never like you remember.
So why does it feel like it is?
Ever hunted down the thing you always wanted as a kid — the action figure, the vintage car, the lost record — only to find the real hit of dopamine was in the search, not the prize? Nostalgia is a trickster that promises the past was better than it was. We crave the feeling of those memories, not the reality of them.
But it’s not just stuff. We want moments to last — relationships, lives, dreams. We tell ourselves they can.
I was lucky. I grew up surrounded by people who believed in the limitless. My parents, my brothers, my cousins, my friends — everyone operated under the same childlike delusion that anything was possible. Not once can I remember someone saying, “That’s a bad idea.” Not until the 20s.
Suddenly, everyone’s an expert on your life. Teachers, family members, friends — people start telling you what’s possible, what’s realistic. And piece by piece, your imagination gets sanded down until you’re left staring at a life you don’t quite recognize.
I see it every time someone applies for a job at one of my companies. I always ask two questions:
What did you want to be when you grew up?
What do you really want to do?
The answers are split down the middle. Half respond like robots: “I want this job, I want to be in customer success, I want to climb the corporate ladder.” The other half? They let it slip — they want to be a rockstar, or open a cat sanctuary on a private island.
You can see the flicker in their eyes, the part of them that still believes in the impossible, that still clings to that kid who didn’t know how to be afraid.
I know it’s possible. I watch my dad do it every day.
He worked a corporate job for 39 years. Saved up. Retired. Now, he wakes up every morning and plays the day like a hand of cards, just to see what he can pull off. Not once have I heard, “We’re too old,” or “It’s too late.” Maybe it’s because he came to America carrying the same wide-eyed belief that anything is possible — the same promise America made to him.
It’s a light that fades and flickers, sure. But it never goes out.
So as the world keeps hurling through space, my advice is this: Grab a seat with a view. Sit back. Enjoy the ride. You’re only ever one decision away from changing everything.