In my books, I’ve suggested that nostalgia promises more than it delivers. It’s not that we can’t go home again, but once we get there, it’s just a piece of the past, and what animates it is the urge to revisit it in the first place. And revisiting a place, time or feeling can’t deliver what we remember about experiencing it the first time. I suppose this is the reason for the wistfulness of nostalgia, a longing for something we can reach for but can’t touch. I blogged about this some years ago, on the occasion of a Woodstock reunion. See “Alta Cockers with Air Guitars” at https://alanrolnick.com/?p=185#more-185. Many years earlier, at the ripe old age of 24, I first experienced this phenomenon, and wrote a song about it called “Free Tickets” (© 1975 Alan Rolnick. All rights reserved):

They gave me free tickets
I sat in the third row
My friend was a no-show
but I didn’t mind

I waited devoutly
with muted impatience
and great expectations
of turning back time

He sang all the old songs
The places he wandered
The women he conquered
And all obsolete

No longer the outlaw
He came on with his pants pressed
I listened with interest
Then I went out to eat

They gave me free tickets
I wasn’t embarrassed
A piece of my own past
preserved in a song