Updated: Dec. 20, 2015
Originally Published: May 6, 2015
Attending Billy Joel’s concert at Fenway Park last summer was supposed to be an entirely joyous occasion. Seeing him live had been a dream of mine for years, something I added to my bucket list after triumphing over breast cancer in the spring of 2014. I was determined to see Billy perform, and I expected it to be nothing short of spectacular.
But what I didn’t anticipate was the flood of emotions the concert would evoke. Yes, the performance was phenomenal, but it also stirred up deep feelings of nostalgia. Music has this magical ability to transport us through time, and on that warm summer night, Billy’s voice sent me back to my childhood—specifically, to my Pepto-pink bedroom where my late mother would sing off-key to “Just the Way You Are.” It reminded me of a time and family life that now feels distant.
However, it was Billy’s appearance that impacted me the most. The stark contrast between the youthful man in the video panels and the bald figure with a gray goatee at the piano was jarring. I found myself thinking, “When did Billy age so much?” which inevitably led to, “When did I?”
Growing up in New York during the ’70s and ’80s, Billy’s music was the soundtrack of my youth. By the age of ten, I could recite every lyric from “Scenes From an Italian Restaurant,” and during my teenage years, I’d lie on my sister’s bed, playing “Vienna” from The Stranger on repeat. I often wondered what I was longing for as Billy crooned, “slow down, you crazy child.” Yet, I resisted slowing down; I wanted to rush into adulthood, to discover my own “Vienna.”
Aging feels like racing down a long stretch of road only to suddenly hit the brakes—triggered by a song, a scent, or a familiar place—forcing you to confront the reality: YOU ARE HERE. Today, I’m a 46-year-old mother of two. While I’m grateful for my life, I find myself jolted by these moments of realization more frequently. The passage of time is a perplexing puzzle. When I think about it, my mind drifts to clichés about time slipping away or flying by.
What’s easier to articulate is the sense of loss that these moments inspire—an emotional ache I initially struggled to define. Then it hit me: nostalgia. Over the past few years, I’ve felt this wave of nostalgia not only at Billy Joel’s concerts but in various settings, like driving through the campus of Boston University, where I spent my college years. On this latest drive, I realized that the most significant change wasn’t the buildings or storefronts but the distance—measured not in miles but in years—between that carefree student and this cancer survivor, navigating motherhood.
This feeling struck again recently while catching up with a friend at a restaurant where I used to work. After chatting with a young, attractive server, I was confronted with the reality that he was not just younger than me but could easily be my son.
The origins of the word “nostalgia” are particularly intriguing. Coined by Johannes Hofer, it originally described homesickness, combining the Greek terms for “return home” and “pain.” For centuries, it was a medical diagnosis, linked to soldiers yearning for home. Only in the 20th century did it evolve into our modern understanding of a wistful longing for the past.
Perhaps it’s the unexpected nature of nostalgia that makes it hard to process when it arises, like during a Billy Joel concert. Embracing memories from my past often feels different; it’s rewarding to share my favorite songs from Run-D.M.C. with my kids or watch classic shows like Scooby-Doo and The Brady Bunch with them. Those moments reconnect me to my history without the ache of homesickness.
Of course, I would love to revisit my old Pepto-pink room and see my mother again, but I don’t yearn to return to the complicated and insecure days of my youth. At 46, I feel more confident in who I am and what I want than ever before. Perhaps this sense of grounding is my own version of Billy’s “Vienna”—a realization that it’s all right here, in the present.
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In summary, experiencing aging through the lens of a Billy Joel concert reveals the complex interplay of nostalgia, growth, and acceptance. While the past holds cherished memories, the present and future are where we truly find ourselves.
Keyphrase: reflections on aging at a concert
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