Earlier this week, I did something I never thought I’d do again: I bought a pair of pointe shoes, after a 10-year break from serious ballet training. That evening, I sat in my flat, sewing the ribbons with the same care I’d once practiced often. In an instant, I was back in my dorm room at 15, sitting cross-legged on the floor, a rerun of Grey’s Anatomy playing in the background as I stitched my fourth pair of shoes that month. I could feel the dull throb in my feet after a long day, already bracing myself for the rehearsals ahead. The memory stayed for a while — equal parts tender and bittersweet — leaving me grateful for the chance to step back into a piece of my past.
Have you ever experienced a feeling that lingered in perfect harmony with a memory, so familiar it relaxes your whole nervous system? You might smell the vanilla perfume your friends were obsessed with in high school, hear the song you once sang at the top of your lungs on the way to work, or taste your mum’s homemade coffee cake that she makes every year on Christmas. Suddenly, you’re transported back to a moment in your life so vividly it feels like you’re there again, except you’re also aware that you’re not. Nostalgia gives us cherished moments, but also an ache, because we cannot return to those past versions of ourselves.
While we cannot so easily return, those past versions do still live within us. The one who once dreamed differently, loved more recklessly, or feared the things we’ve now outgrown. They watch from the corners of your memory to remind you of the person you once were and who you are becoming. But I also know nostalgia doesn’t land this way for everyone. For some, those same memories can feel more like a weight than a gift, a reminder of what’s been lost, or of versions of ourselves we can never fully return to. Sometimes the ache is louder. I take both the warmth and the ache as a gift. How lucky are we to experience and see this growth so deeply, to acknowledge and reflect on its richness. It adds depth, perspective, and meaning to the present, as if each moment is influenced by the memories that came before it.
I’d like you to close your eyes for a moment. Picture the first memory that rises up — one that fills your body with a sense of familiarity, seeping in and softening everything inside you. Notice how it settles, how it feels like a collective exhale between your mind and body. What emotions does it stir? Does it take you back?
Maybe it brought a smile or a feeling of grief. Maybe you were reminded of seeing your husband at the end of the aisle for the first time… of the night you spent crying yourself to sleep after a difficult argument… or of that first night in your new apartment after making a move to a new city.
That feeling should not be taken lightly. I ask you to invite this feeling in often, to be reminded of your journey — for both the good and the bad.
We all have our own version of the point shoes, something ordinary in its time that becomes special in hindsight. These memories aren’t just pieces of the past but living threads of who we are. Nostalgia has a way of reminding us that our lives are made up of small moments that grow richer with time.
Nostalgia isn’t an escape, it’s a bridge. It allows us to carry the best parts (or worst) of our past into the present, so we can live more fully, more consciously, more connected to what makes us feel alive.
To experience nostalgia is to be ever so rich.
Written by Finleigh Zack
About Finleigh
Finleigh Zack is a London-based choreographer and Artistic Director, and the founder of Finleigh Zack Dance, a contemporary dance company based in both New York City and London. She is interested in mental health advocacy within the arts, blending movement with social impact. Alongside her creative practice, she has been exploring and writing about the intentional act of slowing down, both in creative practice and daily life.
