I always wanted to attend a school house. The kind that could only house 20 students, that “lived” in some meadows in some place that was remote and isolated. It was there that I assumed that I, an introvert who craved simpler times and simpler people, could thrive.
School house. A red school house with lined desks and chalkboards and girls on one side and boys on the other.
The good old days. Some times, I think about the good old days and think that maybe I would have liked them, or, not liked really the truth of them, but the vision of them that exists perfectly in my head.
That vision has blue skies and sunshine and bonnets and red school houses and neighbors that knew each other.
But, in truth, the good old days never really were that good. They never really were as we like to think they are in our present brains.
But it’s the construct of the good of days from our present realities that makes them appear so sweet. The good old days then must be the opposite of our present days to give us something to cling to, to yearn for.
The good old days of fresh foods and less pollution and school houses in meadows and dirt roads. This is all did exist, but it didn’t exist in isolation in the same way it does in my imagination. It’s my place that my head goes back to when I’m stressed with the some of the bad that comes with the realities of my present reality of electronics and technologies and rising gas prices.
The good old days, I know, were never that good. But. A girl can dream, can’t she?
Do you ever find yourself reflecting on a less than truthful representation of the “good” old days?