Attending a concert at Boston’s Fenway Park last summer felt like it would be a pure celebration. Seeing Billy Joel live had been a lifelong dream of mine, a goal I set after completing breast cancer treatment in the spring of 2014. This concert was a milestone I anticipated with great excitement.
However, the experience was not solely about the music. While the concert itself was exhilarating, it also evoked deeper emotions related to aging. Music is known to have the power to transport us through time, and on that warm summer evening, Billy’s voice took me back to my childhood bedroom, reminding me of my mother—who passed away nearly 13 years ago—singing off-key to “Just the Way You Are.” It was a nostalgic journey to a time and family dynamic that no longer exists.
What struck me most was the visual contrast between the young Billy Joel I had grown up with and the older version performing on stage. The video screens displayed images of a youthful Joel, full of life and energy, contrasting sharply with the bald man at the piano with a graying goatee. I found myself grappling with the realization that Billy had aged, which inevitably led me to reflect on my own journey through the years.
Growing up in New York during the ’70s and ’80s, Billy’s music was the backdrop of my formative years. I could recite the lyrics to “Scenes From an Italian Restaurant” by age ten, and in my teens, I would listen to “Vienna” on repeat, yearning for something more. As I listened to him sing, “slow down, you crazy child,” I felt a pang of nostalgia and a desire to embrace life at a faster pace.
Aging can often feel like speeding down a highway until a familiar song or scent abruptly brings you to a halt, forcing you to confront your current reality. Now, at 46, as a mother of two, I am frequently jolted by these moments of reflection. I’m increasingly aware of the time that has passed and the changes that have occurred in my life.
Time is a perplexing concept. While I often find myself contemplating its passage, I am met with clichés and song lyrics that resonate: “In the blink of an eye,” “Time flies,” and “Time keeps on slipping into the future.” Yet, what resonates even more is the emotional weight of nostalgia that surfaces at unexpected moments—like during the concert or while reminiscing about my days at Boston University.
The feeling of nostalgia can be bittersweet. It evokes memories of who I was and highlights the distance from that version of myself to who I am now—a mother and a cancer survivor. Recently, I experienced this sentiment again while dining at a restaurant where I worked in my twenties, realizing that the young server was not my peer but someone who could easily be my son.
The term nostalgia has a fascinating history, originating from the Greek words for “return home” and “pain.” Initially used as a medical diagnosis for soldiers longing for home, the meaning has evolved into a wistful yearning for the past. This transformation makes the feeling of nostalgia all the more profound when it unexpectedly arises, as it did at the Billy Joel concert.
While I cherish the memories of my past, I do not wish to return to those complicated days of youth. At 46, I am more confident in my identity and desires than I have ever been. Perhaps this acceptance is my own version of Billy’s “Vienna”—a realization that fulfillment exists in the present moment.