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Nostalgia, memory, and finding yourself in familiar places

I hadn’t been to COSI in decades—not since I was a kid. Back then, the Center of Science and Industry was in a different building in another part of Columbus, Ohio—but this weekend, Cheryl & I went back. Different location, different layout, but somehow, still the same heart.

We explored the Big Science Park first, where kids climbed on the giant lever and tested the weight of cars. Inside, the pendulum still swung in the atrium, tracing time in its slow, hypnotic arc. And then—Progress City. Practically untouched. I stood there for a while, just soaking in the miniature world that once felt impossibly large. I even found a History of COSI area, which proved the coal mine elevator I remembered was real—and not just something I’d made up in my imagination.

The main event, though, was a traveling temporary Star Wars exhibit full of fan-created costumes and models. These weren’t cheap knockoffs—they were museum-quality recreations. Standing among stormtroopers and ships, I found myself grinning like the kid who used to re-enact space battles with action figures. I had entire leagues of wrestlers and warriors living out storylines in my bedroom—many of which I can still recall in detail. Star Wars, like so much from childhood, still has a grip on me. It’s not just nostalgia—it’s narrative. Mythology. Memory.

As I come up on 50 next year, I find myself wanting to revisit these pieces of my past. But why? What is it about nostalgia that draws us in?

Walking through those familiar spaces got me thinking about why these returns to childhood matter so much. Here’s what I’ve come to:

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1. Nostalgia grounds us when life feels uncertain.

In a world where headlines shift by the minute and nothing seems to stay the same, nostalgia offers consistency. It’s a mental safety blanket, softening the edges of an increasingly sharp reality. That trip to COSI didn’t just give me memories—it gave me perspective. I remembered a version of myself who was curious, impressionable, and wide-eyed with wonder. That kid still exists. He just needed a familiar hallway and a swinging pendulum to show up again.

2. Familiarity can spark joy, even in unfamiliar settings.

Sure, the building was different. The layout, too. But that didn’t matter. There were still enough things, like those whisper dishes where you can quietly talk to your friend nearly one hundred feet away, to transported me back. In the “Unofficial Galaxies” exhibit, there was a large statue of Jabba the Hutt that didn’t quite look right–I think it was his tongue. But it was close enough. We don’t need perfect replicas to feel at home. Nostalgia can thrive in partial reconstructions. It’s not the place—it’s the feeling. And the feeling showed up strong.

3. Nostalgia isn’t escapism—it’s a tool for identity work.

This isn’t about living in the past. It’s about understanding it.

When I think about why I still sometimes play with my action figures (as I wrote about in Chapter 18 of Soul Audit), I’m not just indulging in nostalgia—I’m doing identity work. I’ve carried these characters and stories with me for decades, evolving them, reimagining them, letting them grow as I did. What is it about those narratives that still speaks to me? Why do they still bring comfort?

Nostalgia helps connect the dots. It’s not sentimental fluff—it’s insight. It’s remembering not just what happened, but who I was when it did. That’s how we grow with it, instead of getting stuck in it.

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As we age, we’re often told to “move on” or “let go” of the past. But maybe it’s not about moving on—it’s about moving through. Revisiting old joys and fears, childhood awe and imagination, can be part of how we stay connected to what’s most essential in us. Nostalgia isn’t weakness—it’s memory doing its job.

This content is for educational and entertainment purposes and is not a substitute for therapy. If you need support, visit PsychologyToday.com or a reputable online therapy platform to find help.
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