DISCLAIMER: Everything after the video is…wishy washy, pedantic, stoner, sleepy girl talk. Meaning, pedantic in philostoner way, not that I’m actually high.
I ❤ Mad Men.
At first I wasn’t sure if I liked the trajectory of this season but then I realized that’s because, like myself, Mad Men is growing up. Growing old.
Maybe it’s because of the writer’s strike and the year+ gap between last season and this season, or the fact that I’m actually waiting a full week to watch new episodes because I’m all caught up – or the fact that now they are now in a time period rife with historical events and turning points that were hammered into our brains in school – but – this season is just so different.
It’s no longer some glamorously dark period show, when Don and his buddies, were at the peak of their game – with the women, the constant drinking and smoking, the philandering. Nope. Not anymore.
They are beginning to be regarded as old fogies, and the new generation is coming up, and it is depressing to see that way of life become obsolete and dated, despite how unhealthy it was. As Roger said in some episode this season that I can’t remember the name of “When is everything going to go back to normal?”
This entire season seems to be about a reluctant meeting of the past and the future. My mad men can taste the bittersweetness of it all, without really knowing what it means. It’s sad. And the answer to your question Roger is that –
It’s not ever going back to normal. You can’t go backward. Life: A lesson in impermanence, as a friend of mine would say. This is my blog. So I’m going to bring this all back to me.
They say (not some vague “they”…SCIENCE) that as you grow older the neurons in your brain begin to fire more slowly, and you absorb less of the world around you, thus time seems to go by more quickly.
When we were all children, summer vacation was an infinite stretch of time, the duration seemingly lasting as long as the school year itself (I liked how it was put in tonight’s episode of Mad Men). As we grow older, days blur into weeks, and months, and eventually the years pass by one after another, without distinction.
At a certain age, I fear many of us reach some sort of state of arrested development. Locked in on one certain time period that is the last real, tangible, vivid memory, that we are constantly nostalgic for or reminisce on (not always in a good way), that we use as a reference point for other things that come along in the future.
Maybe it is a past lover. But reminisce all you want, close your eyes and try to rewind time, to your fondest memories and your most torrid. You may feel a twinge (hopefully not more, if it is a past lover and you’re really over it), but it will never hold a candle to what you felt in that moment.
Maybe it is your travels. I have fine memories of the London summer, lying in Hyde Park, sharing laughs with friends, feeling my heart awash with the warm tinglies of a budding friendship. I remember it, but there are details I’m missing, and it’s not nearly as satisfying as it was in the moment.
It is all in the past, memories are essential, but they are fragmented and flawed, and you can’t capture them and take them with you. Sad that times of pure unadulterated joy are fleeting, and merciful that I can’t really go back to times of heartbreak and anguish. Life is linear, and that is as it should be.
So even though I’m so tempted to regress and curl up and watch Rugrats episodes and eat Cheetos because the prospect of adulthood is frightening and I don’t even know what to expect, I will never be a child again. I will never be able to revisit the love of past paramours again (thank gawd), and daydreaming about my past travels sucks because I’d much rather be back at those places, and new ones. When I think back on memories, I never feel it as if I am feeling it myself, with immediacy, but it is more like I’m watching a film, where I am being played by someone who looks just like me, and I can deeply empathize with her without really living through it.
Out of the precious few moments I have in this life (because life is too damn short), there is only the future, there is no true past. It’s a collection of fragments that our brain randomly holds on to, and shared experiences and brief moments of spiritual connection with others. I realize that this leaves me with only now. Now. Right now. And the promise of the future.
It is much more fun to imagine a future than to dwell on the past anyway.
Not entirely sure if this was coherent, but whatever. Bedtime por moi.