There's something about the past that you should know
It doesn't exist.
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There is a certain insufficiency of blindly turning to the past in remedying the present. Sure, through the annals of history, there are lessons that require learning and stories that require telling. But at some point along that time continuum, a curious disconnect happens. A realisation takes root that the present is the only slate of time we can influence directly without the need for a time-travel machine.
I find that history (and the cultural importance placed on it) provides an irrational compulsion to live the present in a certain way. We feel obligated to ‘correct’ perceived past misgivings as it were a defect that needs tweaking for a better present and future.
There is a problem with that approach because it assumes the past has a definite end-point.
Technically speaking, the last few seconds that you took to read the paragraph above is the past. But the past is not done and it is never over. It is part of an ongoing process, much like this rambling essay. The past allows us to listen for deeper resonances and it is consistently being re-examined in the present.
There is an inherent contradiction when one speaks about being ‘liberated’ from the manacles of the past. What are we actually being freed from? Experiences come as they go. Moments of time however are inextricably connected with our own personal histories. The only liberation one could experience from the past is an artificially self-imposed time-stamp.
In the above vein, I’d like to talk briefly about youth - a passage of time celebrated by many as pivotal in building a sense of self. A period of time that is either fondly remembered or vehemently detested, depending on who you ask.
It has become commonplace to regard the peak of youth as one’s critical years. It is often framed as a phase where when one is expected to be at the crossroads of major life decisions - where future possibilities are deemed to be precariously balanced on a span of individual choices. “Follow you heart”, “live your dream” are amongst the cliched aphorisms uttered at most graduation speeches, including mine, several eons ago now. There is an exaggerated valorisation of decision making and individual agency over: ‘choosing the right college’, ‘settling down with the right partner’, ‘acquiring your first job’ and so forth.
But there is a catch. There always is.
Without sounding too cynical, these illusory ideals of aspirational happiness are carefully manufactured to fulfil particular capitalistic, political and institutional demands. I mean, universities for instance, are in the business of skilfully commodifying youthful dreams in shiny prospectus booklets, building an idealised world of countless possibilities - that is their ultimate product; their raison d'etre. There is nothing particularly abhorrent about this. It is the way the world works. That was how it worked for me anyway. Knowledge is always packaged when it is communicated. It is mediated by virtue of its very existence.
As a 21 year old fresh faced out of mandatory national service, I looked to academia as an intellectual safe space to nurse my erratic adolescent ego and resurrect those lifeless brain cells after 3 years of mind-numbing military regimes. The life of a scholar seemed like the ultimate antidote towards banishing past mental demons and vulnerabilities, or so I thought. I vividly remember being handed university brochure covers featuring smiling youth lounging on European style manicured courtyards with a Baudrillard book in one hand and a takeaway coffee in the other. Come to think of it, Baudrillard was rather a curious choice given his work on symbolic representation.
But I digress.
In reality, however, many of my life lessons did not originate through academia, on lawns or in the countless books I’ve read. University became a site where I ultimately grappled with living between a past of unfulfilled ambitions and an ever uncertain future. I felt sandwiched in a liminal space, lost within my own psyche, confused and conflicted about what I really wanted. All pretty standard fare for a young person I suppose.
Despite this gnawing sense of unease, I dutifully played the game. And in many respects, I emerged fairly victorious. But over the years, I’ve realised that my greatest win did not lie in my academic accolades or professional achievements.
My biggest accomplishment was in understanding that the past, present and future are part of a single and ever evolving continuum, that ebbs and flows, with no distinct start, middle or end. The stories we want for ourselves often fail in capturing the entirety of what life offers. Because ultimately the only story that matters is the one that write’s itself while you live in the present moment.
This isn’t an ode to solipsism or narcissism but from a deeper well of universal truth. We never truly break away from the past because like all complex assemblies, life is layered with countless textured narratives - chaotically arranged in an unexplainable configuration. Similarly, we can never predict the future, at least not while finite humans/institutions make infinite claims of virtue and power that are quite often beyond their competence or reach. That leaves us with the present - the living and breathing ecosystem of ideas, pains and delights that unfold right in front of us.
The great French existentialist philosopher and trailblazing feminist Simone de Beauvoir examined in her book, The Ethics of Ambiguity, that there is a central paradox in our temporal bias. Instead of fully inhabiting our present, she asserts that we are too often tempted to regard it as posterity’s past and observe it with the same “tranquil curiosity” of a tourist with which we observe yesteryear’s events and torments.
“Such an attitude appears in moments of discouragement and confusion; in fact, it is a position of withdrawal, a way of fleeing the truth of the present… But the present is not a potential past; it is the moment of choice and action; we can not avoid living it through a project; and there is no project which is purely contemplative since one always projects himself toward something, toward the future; to put oneself “outside” is still a way of living the inescapable fact that one is inside…”
Beauvoir’s underlying point is that the past is only honoured or ‘learnt from’ if we are upholding the responsibility of the present acutely. Our lives are shaped by an inescapable confluence of choice and chance. To pick it apart and isolate, cling on to or banish any specific life experience is to obscure the full story. Because often, we find ourselves by getting lost and part of that involves suspending our attachment to any temporal roadmap.