What Is The Real Reason Some Yearn For The Good old Days?

fmdog44

Well-known Member
Location
Houston, Texas
There are many posts about going back to older days. I have been the opposite all of my life. I never wanted for days gone by. I accept every day for what it is including days where I have regrets. So what? I'm human and flawed. Why do some leave home after high school? Part of it is to remove themselves from what and where they were. So many of my boyhood friends remain in the town we grew up in. To me that is the definition of hell. I never really stopped moving until I was in my mid 40's. New places and new faces is what I wanted as frequently as possible. Part of my outlook is from my father telling me from an early age go out an see the world. It always made sense to me as a way of life. Having good memories is enough and even if I could go back for those good memories I would not. I have a friend that constantly harps on his past life. I feel sad for him. When we stop expanding we stop living. My 02.
 

There are many posts about going back to older days. I have been the opposite all of my life. I never wanted for days gone by. I accept every day for what it is including days where I have regrets. So what? I'm human and flawed. Why do some leave home after high school? Part of it is to remove themselves from what and where they were. So many of my boyhood friends remain in the town we grew up in. To me that is the definition of hell. I never really stopped moving until I was in my mid 40's. New places and new faces is what I wanted as frequently as possible. Part of my outlook is from my father telling me from an early age go out an see the world. It always made sense to me as a way of life. Having good memories is enough and even if I could go back for those good memories I would not. I have a friend that constantly harps on his past life. I feel sad for him. When we stop expanding we stop living. My 02.
That is a great post, and I totally agree with you. On the rare occasions when I have stopped off and seen my old HS crew, I am often struck by how small their worlds are. I would find it boring. I will admit that 31 years in the Navy will do that to a person. I also admit to a little envy over how close they are to each other.

But I would still take my path again even with the rough spots, and I suspect you would take your again as well.
 
Why do they yearn? IMO It's not a stark, crude, in your face reality. It's soft, comforting, peaceful; like a gentle dream. Even the bad memories are viewed now with a sweetness and understanding. You're not experiencing it. You're watching it as from a quiet movie seat and it takes on a mellow tone, like a sepia photograph or a gas light lamp.
We can't linger there. This is our life of activity and the goal of expansion of happiness. The past is gone.
It's just a place to visit occasionally.
 
I yearn for the good old days mostly because the memories I have is of a simpler life that included all my family who have passed on. We were all close. Family time was special.
I never remember anyone ever saying they didn't have time for this or that even though people worked harder and longer than today.
I met my hubby in the early 70s, and to this day we live only 50 miles from our childhood homes. We lived at home until the day we were married.
I'm tired of all the rush. I think this virus has been an eye opener for some people. They realize they don't have to be rushing around. Many are enjoying cooking meals for the first time ,reading books and pursuing other hobbies which is exactly what we did back in the day.
Maybe its a wake up call to slow down and stop and smell the roses.
 
The only reason why I yearn for the good old days is because of what the world is like today, In the good old days I didn't have to worry about what awful things are going on now.Of course I started worrying when the Viet Nam war started and I wouldn't want to relive those days ever again.
I didn’t have many good old childhood days. I would never go back to that pain.
 
The only reason I would yearn for the good old days is how much time family spent it together. Not much money so you appreciate what you do have which is time to enjoy your siblings and parents. Sadly most (like me) don't appreciate that until we are older and most family members have passed on. Now we are spending time together but just my immediate family so I try to stay connect to others (siblings and cousins) by messaging, text and phone calls. Hopefully and eventually in the future we will get together again with those that we truly miss.
 
Music is what I long for. Good music. We danced good dances and people could sing and we understood them, so yes, that's what I long for. Also, why I spend an inordinate amount of time on You Tube. While I am well educated and widely traveled, I have returned to my area of growing up. It is a comfort zone in my old age, I guess.
 
Ruth n Jersey's, post really hit home for me, it embraces my very thoughts and memories related to the past.

As a young child, we were always going somewhere to visit someone or another (family/friends), and we always had visitors in our home. When it came to important holiday gatherings, there was a real warmness in the air, as everybody planned for that special sit-down meal together, and there was always so many of us. Lots of kids, lots of family, and the love ran deep.

Everything not only seemed warmer and cozier, it was warmer and cozier than today, in that the woman of the house was always home, there was baking in the oven, something simmering on the stove, the house was warm, the lights were on, and there was love in the house.

There was structure, routines, and life truly was enjoyed at a much slower and more relaxed pace compared to today. There was less materialism back in the day, and nobody I knew put greed ahead of family.

There were Sunday family drives, barbecues, beach outings, and neighbourhood get-togethers. Everyone knew everybody, and no one would have ever seen someone hard done by, if they were alone or lonely, an invitation was quickly extended, and helping other neighbours was all in a day's work when I was growing up.

Playtime actually stood for something when I was young and growing... it was as if it was mandatory, the more play, the better, and moms were always happy to see their kids out playing, because it gave them a chance to catch up on housework and things inside, and enjoying a lazy afternoon cup of tea or a cold refreshing drink in the shade of ones back yard was par for the course.

The crazy hustle and bustle that we're witnessing today didn't exist in my neck of the woods back in the day, people travelled, walked, and did at a much slower pace, people took the time to bend over and smell the roses, to look up at the sky, to watch birds flying in the air, and to stop and have a friendly chat with a neighbour or two as one went about their daily affairs.

There was a general sense of safety and trust back in the day, something society lacks in a really big way today. People don't know one another today like people used to know people back in the day.

Most everything was simpler back in the day, less complicated, and a general sense of higher respect and appreciation for others ran more true than it does today, way more true.

I could go on and on...
 
Why do they yearn? IMO It's not a stark, crude, in your face reality. It's soft, comforting, peaceful; like a gentle dream. Even the bad memories are viewed now with a sweetness and understanding. You're not experiencing it. You're watching it as from a quiet movie seat and it takes on a mellow tone, like a sepia photograph or a gas light lamp.
We can't linger there. This is our life of activity and the goal of expansion of happiness. The past is gone.
It's just a place to visit occasionally.
Its like your higher self viewing your lower self...a bird on a limb watching
your thoughts and actions in loving indifference.
 
Sometimes leaving home after finishing school does not preclude carrying the past with you. Childhood trauma will do that. Often, all the adult accomplishments, travelling etc simply aren’t enough to wash the pain away. For some, even therapy can have limited success.
I'm the other way. I enjoy reliving my youth from the time that I can remember until marriage. It was a great time to be alive. Not saying that marriage changed my life and not being a happy person, but my growing and learning years were absolutely the best of times, as they say.
 
Hmm. @Aunt Marg A story from my wonderful childhood.

I was sent outside as in “I am sick of you being around, so outside. NOW!” It was after dinner. I don’t know how I ended up outside barefoot. The rule was always wear shoes. I figure I was around eight.

I would not be outside long. When they finished eating, I would be called in to do the dishes. I walked across the side yard which, since we just move to a new house, was not yet planted. I suppose something caught my eye. I stepped on an old piece of 2x2 with a large rusty construction nail in it. I must have screamed, had to have screamed. I don’t remember.

The nail went up through the arch of my foot and came out the top. It stuck up a couple of inches through the top of my foot. My butt hit the dirt and I just sat there. (What else could I do? I had a giant nail in my foot, held against the bottom of by foot by a pice of wood). I wasn’t crying. I never cried. Then, mother, from the doorway calls. Come in, time for dishes. 🤦🏻‍♀️

I don’t answer. It’s twilight outside. She comes to the end of walkway. She is wearing her white heavy terry cloth (I think) robe with the pink flowers with green stems on the left side. She loves this robe. She walks over and sees me sitting. Where are your shoes? (I have wondered that my entire life. Where were my shoes.) Get up. “I can’t”

She walks over and sees my problem. Reaches down, (Using her right hand) takes hold of the piece of wood, and pulls the nail, and board, out and off my foot. I start to bleed like a stuck pig. She uses her right hand, pulls me, and pulls me along into the house. It’s a slow journey.

I am hopping on one foot, my left. I am leaning against her. My foot is bleeding all over her robe and the flowers and the stems. As we struggle to get into the house, she says “I told you to wear shoes outside”. With her right hand, she is hold onto my right arm, half dragging me. With her left hand, she hits my butt with every word she says. Spanks me all the way into the house.

She sits me down in a dinning room chair. Goes and gets an old sheet, tears and ties it around my foot. “You got blood all over my robe.” She pulls me out of the chair, folds me over her lap, and continues spanking. Tosses me back into the chair, throws the rest of the sheet at me, and yells “clean up the blood”, which I do.

When I am done, she tells me to go do the dishes. I go do the dishes.

Yup, I do not miss the good old days. Not one dang bit. I could go on, @Aunt Marg.
 
Hmm. @Aunt Marg A story from my wonderful childhood.

I was sent outside as in “I am sick of you being around, so outside. NOW!” It was after dinner. I don’t know how I ended up outside barefoot. The rule was always wear shoes. I figure I was around eight.

I would not be outside long. When they finished eating, I would be called in to do the dishes. I walked across the side yard which, since we just move to a new house, was not yet planted. I suppose something caught my eye. I stepped on an old piece of 2x2 with a large rusty construction nail in it. I must have screamed, had to have screamed. I don’t remember.

The nail went up through the arch of my foot and came out the top. It stuck up a couple of inches through the top of my foot. My butt hit the dirt and I just sat there. (What else could I do? I had a giant nail in my foot, held against the bottom of by foot by a pice of wood). I wasn’t crying. I never cried. Then, mother, from the doorway calls. Come in, time for dishes. 🤦🏻‍♀️

I don’t answer. It’s twilight outside. She comes to the end of walkway. She is wearing her white heavy terry cloth (I think) robe with the pink flowers with green stems on the left side. She loves this robe. She walks over and sees me sitting. Where are your shoes? (I have wondered that my entire life. Where were my shoes.) Get up. “I can’t”

She walks over and sees my problem. Reaches down, (Using her right hand) takes hold of the piece of wood, and pulls the nail, and board, out and off my foot. I start to bleed like a stuck pig. She uses her right hand, pulls me, and pulls me along into the house. It’s a slow journey.

I am hopping on one foot, my left. I am leaning against her. My foot is bleeding all over her robe and the flowers and the stems. As we struggle to get into the house, she says “I told you to wear shoes outside”. With her right hand, she is hold onto my right arm, half dragging me. With her left hand, she hits my butt with every word she says. Spanks me all the way into the house.

She sits me down in a dinning room chair. Goes and gets an old sheet, tears and ties it around my foot. “You got blood all over my robe.” She pulls me out of the chair, folds me over her lap, and continues spanking. Tosses me back into the chair, throws the rest of the sheet at me, and yells “clean up the blood”, which I do.

When I am done, she tells me to go do the dishes. I go do the dishes.

Yup, I do not miss the good old days. Not one dang bit. I could go on, @Aunt Marg.
Oh, how I love the story, Aneeda! :love:

ROFLMAO! The spanking you got reminds me of a spanking I gave one of my sons one day. I had told the younger ones, NO going down the basement stairs by yourself. It was laundry day, and I had spent the morning going up and down, and wouldn't you know it, I dropped my guard for a minute, and one of my sons took a tumble down the stairs.

They were wooden, and the landing concrete, and all I heard was a series of clunks and bangs. I don't think my feet touched more than two stairs going down to fetch him in a panic. Amazingly enough, dear son had just scared the dickens out of himself, and once I established that he was alright, I grabbed hold of him by one arm, and as I was ushering him back up the stairs, for every step he took, I landed a smart spank on his bulky diapered bottom, all the way to the top.

Kids will be kids. :)
 
Oh, how I love the story, Aneeda! :love:

ROFLMAO! The spanking you got reminds me of a spanking I gave one of my sons one day. I had told the younger ones, NO going down the basement stairs by yourself. It was laundry day, and I had spent the morning going up and down, and wouldn't you know it, I dropped my guard for a minute, and one of my sons took a tumble down the stairs.

They were wooden, and the landing concrete, and all I heard was a series of clunks and bangs. I don't think my feet touched more than two stairs going down to fetch him in a panic. Amazingly enough, dear son had just scared the dickens out of himself, and once I established that he was alright, I grabbed hold of him by one arm, and as I was ushering him back up the stairs, for every step he took, I landed a smart spank on his bulky diapered bottom, all the way to the top.

Kids will be kids. :)
I thought you would be amused. As much as I was by your childhood story, I like fantasies.
 
Hmm. @Aunt Marg A story from my wonderful childhood.

I was sent outside as in “I am sick of you being around, so outside. NOW!” It was after dinner. I don’t know how I ended up outside barefoot. The rule was always wear shoes. I figure I was around eight.

I would not be outside long. When they finished eating, I would be called in to do the dishes. I walked across the side yard which, since we just move to a new house, was not yet planted. I suppose something caught my eye. I stepped on an old piece of 2x2 with a large rusty construction nail in it. I must have screamed, had to have screamed. I don’t remember.

The nail went up through the arch of my foot and came out the top. It stuck up a couple of inches through the top of my foot. My butt hit the dirt and I just sat there. (What else could I do? I had a giant nail in my foot, held against the bottom of by foot by a pice of wood). I wasn’t crying. I never cried. Then, mother, from the doorway calls. Come in, time for dishes. 🤦🏻‍♀️

I don’t answer. It’s twilight outside. She comes to the end of walkway. She is wearing her white heavy terry cloth (I think) robe with the pink flowers with green stems on the left side. She loves this robe. She walks over and sees me sitting. Where are your shoes? (I have wondered that my entire life. Where were my shoes.) Get up. “I can’t”

She walks over and sees my problem. Reaches down, (Using her right hand) takes hold of the piece of wood, and pulls the nail, and board, out and off my foot. I start to bleed like a stuck pig. She uses her right hand, pulls me, and pulls me along into the house. It’s a slow journey.

I am hopping on one foot, my left. I am leaning against her. My foot is bleeding all over her robe and the flowers and the stems. As we struggle to get into the house, she says “I told you to wear shoes outside”. With her right hand, she is hold onto my right arm, half dragging me. With her left hand, she hits my butt with every word she says. Spanks me all the way into the house.

She sits me down in a dinning room chair. Goes and gets an old sheet, tears and ties it around my foot. “You got blood all over my robe.” She pulls me out of the chair, folds me over her lap, and continues spanking. Tosses me back into the chair, throws the rest of the sheet at me, and yells “clean up the blood”, which I do.

When I am done, she tells me to go do the dishes. I go do the dishes.

Yup, I do not miss the good old days. Not one dang bit. I could go on,
I'm speechless o_O
 

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