Don't Forget the Past

Many moons ago, there was a co-worker of mine who said to me that I’m a hopeless romantic. If I remember correctly, it was said as an off-hand remark during a party when I was trying — for the eleventh time — to put one of Nick Cave’s songs in the playlist. Yet even though it was said in a slightly dismissive manner, I do still wonder about the hopeless part (I don’t really believe it to be true). But I sure think he was right about the romantic part. Because a romantic is considered to be someone who clings to the past, and for better or worse, yes, that’s me too.

I love the past. And I’m not even merely talking about childhood nostalgia here. No, I love every aspect of it. I like old things, such as the old-fashioned lamp that reminds me of my grandmother who lived near the wind mill in the town where I was born. So okay, maybe that one is a bit of nostalgia. But I also like my old-fashioned clock from the 1950s that still needs another repair. I hope to get to it again sometime next Spring. And I like the earthy colours that we use to decorate our home, such that they allow us to feel the connection with nature.

Slowly, but surely, I feel that I want a return too. Not merely a return to romanticism, but a return to nature, to our roots, to a time where people knew their neighbourhoods and the people that lived there. Where we used to take the time for them. To a time where we could support one another.

Every week I take my electric cargo bike and I cycle to our garden. A garden that is being cared for by farmers with a love of nature, who don’t use any pesticides, and where me and my son can go to pick fresh vegetables whenever we need. Where we can say hi to the ducks that roam freely to control the infestation of snails that might otherwise ruin the crops.

I feel that’s love. That’s romanticism. That’s the kind of future I want for humanity. And while for many of those things, yes, it may indeed involve a sense of nostalgia, or a yearning for times that may never return, I still believe such things are possible not only in the past, but in the future as well.

I don’t want to stop the future. I know many of us look forward to a time with better technology. It doesn’t have to be a future with flying cars, but maybe it can be one where the rail roads are more well-connected. Hopefully a future where there may be fewer cars in general. And where those cars that do remain don’t pollute the air as much as those of yonder. We can still have our fancy phones in that future, but maybe with fewer apps screaming for attention. A time where Sudoku apps don’t force their notifications telling you it’s time to play.

What I do like to do is to throw an anchor. Not one that will break the ship in half, but an anchor that we can lower gently so that we don’t have to stop the future, but so that we can nudge its course. Given time, we may even be able to lift the anchor again. Maybe not entirely, but to the right height so that the ship remains balanced. I want to set course to a future of balance. One of prosperity, and understanding. To a future where people can learn to trust institutions again. And where hopefully, enough people learn to understand that less can indeed be more.

I think it’s fair to say that I’m a romantic indeed. Because romanticism is all about love, and I love you too much to admit otherwise.