Sudden but Inevitable Nostalgia Bomb
It’s not often I get hit with a powerful, overwhelming sense of nostalgia for a time that I didn’t exist in.
..I realize that doesn’t make sense, so let me back up. I am a Classical Studies major and according to my Alum, the University of Florida, that is as follows:
‘Classical studies is an interdisciplinary major, with specializations in ancient language, classical civilization and teacher certification that offer students instruction in the history, literature and culture of the ancient Greeks and Romans. These three specializations require proficiency in Latin or ancient Greek.’
I wouldn’t call myself proficient in anything these days, but I did cling to the Greek alphabet as tightly as I possibly could – possibly because the class gave me so much trauma I haven’t been able to shake it out of me. Ancient Greek (the language, not history) was quite possibly the most difficult class I’ve ever taken. I think the only one that comes even remotely close would be a Geology class I took in community college, because I thought it would be easy, but wow was I wrong. I still regret not taking the lab, but alas. I was only trying to fill a residency quota at Santa Fe before transferring into the big Orange and Blue.
At any rate, history is sort of my jam. Ancient history specifically, but I do love a saucy European monarchy scandal as well. As I’ve mentioned previously, when I was a kid all I wanted to do was archaeology. I grew up with a dreamer for a father who’s taste in music ranged from Mozart to polka, and who loved Harrison Ford. I say this because it’s relevant – I promise. My childhood was full of Star Wars movies and Indiana Jones. I remember sitting with my dad and watching Raiders, eyes glued to the TV, watching them dig and go on adventures and of course, that’s what I imagined archaeology to be. When I grew up and volunteered, I was hit with quite a reality check – it is not swinging through jungles and going on adventures. Not even remotely close. It’s data and science and recording and it’s incredibly tedious work.
It’s also boring. Trust me when I say it is not what you see in Indiana Jones.
Even if I’d known that at a young age, it wouldn’t have tainted my love for history. The Ancient Greeks have always been a passion of mine, likely stemmed from my love of reading. In particular, a chronic devouring of DAulaires’ Book of Greek Myth, which eventually blossomed into reading the Odyssey – on my own. My 8th grade English teacher couldn’t believe I’d read the whole thing without it being an assignment. I remember him coming up to me after catching me reading before class, and asking what in the world I was doing.
I’m going into all of this because I happened to stumble across an article this morning while I was scrolling through my Facebook that was about discovery and excavation of a 3,500 year old Greek tomb. The soldier was buried in an olive grove near Pylos – if you are interested, the article is here.
I shared it, of course, and ended up speaking at great length with a friend of mine about it. I’m sure she heard far more about Linear A and Linear B and the ancient Myceneans and Minoans than she ever really cared about, but the article reminded me of a long buried passion that I’ve put to the side in favor of a job that pays my bills. It’s redundant to say, but so often we get wrapped up and consumed with life as it currently is, with bills pouring out of our ears and drowning us in a mountain of debt that we forget what we are truly passionate about. We forget the things that make our hearts pound, our skin prick, our breath stick in our throat. We forget what it feels like to be so passionately emotional about something that we end up just sludging through the day, occupying ourselves with our phones and social media just to get through it. We look at something we like and go oh, cool, share it and move on. If we’re lucky, we’ll take a second to actually read it.
When I went to Italy in September, I cried in front of the Colosseum. I was looking at this incredibly massive piece of ancient architecture that was crafted thousands of years ago and trying to picture what it looked like in it’s heyday. I stood in front of Trajan’s Column and welled up, and when I went to the Acropolis in Greece, I stood there and cried.
Everyone who loves to travel does it for different reasons. Some want a beautiful, tropical vacation. Some want a change of pace – new food, new customs, new languages. Some want their eyes opened. Some want to learn who they are by way of forging ahead on their own into the great big unknown.
I travel for all of these reasons and more, but most notably, it’s the history. It’s the culture. It’s seeing things so old my brain can hardly process it. It’s standing in the middle of an ancient structure, closing my eyes and trying to imagine what it must have been like all those years ago. To see the structures I’ve studied in college come to life, to go from seeing pictures in textbooks to actually standing in Epidaurus and the Acropolis…that’s why I do it. That’s why I travel.
