Attending the concert at Fenway Park in Boston last summer was supposed to be a purely delightful experience. Seeing Billy Joel perform live had been a dream of mine for years, particularly after I checked it off my bucket list following my recovery from breast cancer in the spring of 2014. I was determined to see Billy in concert, and I was certain it would be amazing.
So what happened?
The concert itself was fantastic, but it also sparked some unexpected emotions. Music has a magical way of transporting us through time, and as Billy sang that warm summer night, I found myself drifting back to my childhood—remembering my mother’s off-key rendition of “Just the Way You Are” in our Pepto-pink bedroom, and the family life that feels worlds away now.
But it was Billy’s appearance that truly struck a chord. The video screens showcased images of his younger self, and the contrast was jarring. There was the vibrant, wavy-haired young man I adored from album covers, and then there was the balding, gray-goateed man seated at the piano. It hit me: “When did Billy get so old?”—and beneath that, “When did I become so old?”
Growing up in New York during the ’70s and ’80s, Billy’s voice was the soundtrack of my adolescence. By ten, I could sing every word to “Scenes From an Italian Restaurant,” which was a source of pride for me. In my teens, after my sister Tess left for college, I would lie on her bed, captivated by “Vienna” from The Stranger. What was I yearning for when he sang, “slow down, you crazy child, take the phone off the hook and disappear for a while”?
But I didn’t want to slow down; I was eager to find my own “Vienna”—whatever that might represent. I wanted to grow up quickly.
And grow up I did. Aging feels like racing down the highway, and then—triggered by a song or a scent—you suddenly come to a screeching halt. The realization hits: YOU ARE HERE. Today, I’m a 46-year-old mother of two. While I’m grateful to be alive, these moments of abrupt reflection seem to happen more often. I’m increasingly aware of the vast expanse of time that has passed.
The Passage of Time
The passage of time is perplexing. When I try to articulate my thoughts on it, I often resort to clichés:
- In the blink of an eye.
- Time flies.
- Time keeps on slipping into the future.
- Time is on my side.
(Perhaps Mick Jagger has a point—he seems to be doing just fine at 71.)
What’s easier to explore is the emotional resonance of these moments, which often brings forth a sense of nostalgia. I’ve felt this nostalgia not only at Billy Joel concerts but in various places, like when I drive down Commonwealth Avenue near my alma mater, Boston University. Though I’ve passed by countless times in the last two decades, this time, the real change was me—reflecting on the years that separate the carefree college student I used to be from the mother and cancer survivor I am today.
Just recently, I experienced a similar jolt while having lunch with a friend at a restaurant where I once worked in my twenties. After chatting with a charming young server, I had to come to terms with the fact that he was not my contemporary; he could easily be my son.
The Origins of Nostalgia
The origins of the term nostalgia intrigue me. Coined by Johannes Hofer, a German scholar, it originally described home-related anguish (from the German hemiweh, meaning home + woe). For centuries, it was primarily a medical diagnosis among soldiers, only evolving in the 1920s to evoke a wistful longing for the past as we understand it today.
Perhaps it’s the surprise of nostalgia that makes it challenging to confront when it unexpectedly arises, as it did at the Billy Joel concert. When I embrace elements of my past, it often feels quite different—like sharing my favorite Run-D.M.C. songs with my kids or rewatching classic shows like Scooby-Doo and The Brady Bunch. Sharing scenes from The Jerk or Valley Girl with friends online connects me to those memories instead of leaving me homesick.
Of course, I would love to revisit that Pepto-pink room and see my mother again. Yet, I don’t yearn to return to the complex, insecure days of my youth. At 46, I feel more confident in who I am and what fills my life than ever before.
Maybe this is my own “Vienna,” right here and now.
For more reflections on parenting and life’s transitions, check out our blog on home insemination. You can also explore resources on pregnancy and family planning at Science Daily and learn more about at-home options from Make A Mom.
Summary
Attending a Billy Joel concert can evoke powerful emotions about aging and nostalgia. As the author reflects on their past, they confront the changes time brings, recognizing the contrasts between youth and adulthood. Embracing nostalgia can be bittersweet, but it also highlights the growth and confidence that come with age.