July 31, 2026
“I take off the corner of 24th & Lamar, soles grinding into the pavement,” began my final essay submitted in college. Today, three years past, I ran the same road at five in the morning to beat the summer heat, early enough that not even the birds were calling yet from the top of the cottonwoods and the roads not yet crowded with the inevitable slowdowns which define the workdays here. In these intervening years, Austin has grown; I rather enjoy the new complexes and neon signs. It would be silly to demand that my college town be frozen in amber. Though it is not for me, I can see how Austin would be appealing to live in. Though, as in any other city, what made Austin for me was the people.
College towns are naturally transitory. Every four years the population replenishes to form new associations with their environment. Hopefully the newer generation will not think of COVID when they see the medical center. Similarly, they may not be as excited to tour every restroom in the math building. These associations live only in our heads; it is not that nothing remains here; some friends and family persist through the feverish summers, but the mass which forms memory is gone. Walking around is a museum of nostalgia, even if places have changed.
I do not understand those who wish to preserve the physical and social landscape of a city; are these memories not enough? Even existing in such a charged place is a bit tiring. Here is where I walked home drunk, there is the meeting place of a treasured friend, this is the house I spent two years in. To walk the streets dwelling in nostalgia is rich enough to pain me. It is nice enough to sample.
Austin has a rich tradition of claiming that it was better in the past and that it just is not the same anymore. This fits well with its claim of uniqueness; both are false. Sourcing pleasure from nostalgia is commonplace, and attempting to preserve it is found everywhere. Thus this behavior is a maladaptive instinct.
If one is to engage in the search for nostalgia while still living—and with this, one hopes, comes memory formation—delighting in the past consumes time better used to form new experiences. By demanding the present be a museum, one ceases to live. Furthermore, this prevents the inheritors of these places from forming their unique connection with their environments. It is a demand for homogeneity—that nothing ever changes. A lack of change is no different from death.
This week’s morning runs through Austin have been nice; some variety is always welcome. Plus, I love Austin-style hippy vegan food. But hold the memories, and I’ll be happy to be home to make more.
With love to all in the future—