The Deodorant Theorem

Rule Number 6: Nostalgia is the best medicine, and the worst drug

This may not be much of a rule, but it's something that I came up with when I was in high school, and I've never gotten over it. And by that I mean that I thought I was so damn clever for coming up with this when I was sixteen years old that I'm going to ram it down everyone's throat until it finally gets published in a coffee table book with advice for high school graduates looking back upon their golden years. I'm serious. Add this to my list of ambitions.

Regardless, describing the effect that nostalgia has on people is enormously difficult. It can be simultaneously very heartening and very distasteful. Either way, our brains are hard-wired with so many implicit connections that reminiscing on the past is impossible to avoid. Take this example: have you ever bought a new style of deodorant? The first time you use deodorant, you can smell it on you for a few days and you think to yourself "hot damn this deodorant smells great, girls are going to love me for wearing this, I'm like Fonzi in this shit." OK, well maybe I just really like a new style of deodorant, but even if you aren't as enthusiastic about smell as I am, you notice that you smell different. But after a few days, your nose and brain get used to the smell. Your body accommodates, and the scent disappears. Now, try switching deodorants for a few months, and then switching back to the original scent. You'll smell it again, and not only that, you'll remember everything that happened during those few days when you first used the deodorant. Yes, this is an experimental process that takes a few months and a couple sticks of deodorant, but I promise I'm not full of shit. I also promise that this won't be worth your time to try if you haven't noticed it already, but whatever.

The point I'm trying to get at is that we unconsciously absorb so many things. There are times when I think I've totally forgotten some parts of my life, and then I'll walk into a room, look at a specific corner in a way that reminds me of another time, and drift into oddly specific memories of years past. For instance, every time I walk into the production studio after my DJ shift at KALX I'm reminded of a specific date that I took an ex-girlfriend on a few years ago. These two things are likely very thinly related, and I still haven't figured out the reasons why I make these connections, but I think that's the point. Nostalgia isn't supposed to make any fucking sense. Unless you think about the deodorant theorem. Much like how our noses accommodate a new smell, our brains accommodate moments that are repeated and ordinary. People generally look back on the past fondly because it is a new stimulus that their brains have forgotten for a while. It is the deodorant that you haven't used for a few months and are just trying on again. While that's a nice feeling, it's very frustrating that we can recognize in hindsight that maybe we should have taken things more seriously while we were involved. Everyone's had the experience at some point of looking back on time spent with a long-lost friend or ex-girlfriend and realizing, "man, I shouldn't have taken that for granted." Nostalgia is a great medicine, but it's an addicting depressant as well.

I've realized recently though that "not taking things for granted" isn't realistic. Our brains are hard-wired to deal with nostalgia in the way they do precisely because they aren't hard-wired to handle full ranges of emotion and comprehension at all hours of the day. We have to take some of this information, store it up, and bring it out in idle times where we have a few moments to become nostalgic and think back on how we felt in the past. If we were always so sentimental, nothing would ever get done. We'd all be likened to the elderly man telling his grandchildren about the "good old days." So how do we get around this and not take things for granted when we're in the moment?

I haven't totally figured out an answer to that question. I have too many regrets in the recent past to think that I'm even making progress in that field. If anything, I think the best we can do is enjoy the waves of positive nostalgia, and when the negative inevitably arrives, take a deep breath and move forward. Nostalgia can be a great medicine, but ultimately the goal in life is to live comfortably drug-free, whether medicinal or not. As far as dealing with the present, my goal is to live intentionally. I will still take things for granted, but I know that I am capable of opening up my brain to what's actually occurring around me. Instead of falling into deep moments of thought about the past and future, I can close off that part of my brain for a bit and just notice the present. It's difficult, but worth attempting.

I have to go to Walgreen's today to buy a new stick of deodorant. I think I'm going to buy something I've never bought before and make a statement about my future. These are the days that I'll remember if I ever try my experiment again, and I'm alright with that. And maybe someday I'll be ready to come back to what I've been wearing recently and will remember some of the things that have happened over the past year. If I'm lucky, I just might look back fondly.