More retrocomputing, less nostalgia
Summer 2025
When spring came, even the false spring, there were no problems except where to be happiest.
- Ernest Hemingway, A Moveable Feast
Walk past a certain house a certain day, when the sun hits just right and there's a scent of lilacs in the air, and you might experience a sudden pang of intense, painful melancholy. Stumble upon an old gum wrapper - you know, one from before they changed the logo - and a bittersweet ache might flutter by in your chest, completely changing the moment from mundane to deeply sentimental.
This is what I'd like to call real nostalgia.
The word nostalgia has, I think, been slowly watered down over time - and let me be the first to confess my guilt in this matter. Real nostalgia is a painful and involuntary feeling, related to the word's original use for describing homesickness among soldiers. As with Proust's madeleine, it's often triggered suddenly and randomly by specific places or objects, washing over us when passing through a neighbourhood similar to that of our childhood, or even emanating from something as trivial as an old piece of candy.
But it's not the place or thing itself that causes melancholy - it's the mix of associated happy memories and the instant and unbearable realization that we can't relive the moments of which they're made. Buying a piece of gum - even with a re-print of the old wrapper - won't feel anywhere near as exciting as the first time, with friends, that one day of a perfect summer filled with fun. We understand that buying the house with lilacs in the garden would likely be an even more futile exercise; happiness isn't an intrinsic trait of the bricks in the building, and they can't bring a childhood back - which is not to say that houses with lilacs can't be nice in their own right.
Nostalgia may be involuntary and painful, but in the end it's positive, because it can't be felt without having known happiness. Perhaps it's helpful in dealing with the grief of inevitable change: after depression comes acceptance. The pain subsides and we can go on to create more happy memories - maybe even for others.
What we usually call nostalgia is actually reminiscing: willfully recounting or thinking about past experiences, but not as a means of intentionally conjuring melancholy. Reminiscing often leads to accusations of living in the past, which I think is a disingenuous simplification: It's a way of reaffirming old friendships and strengthening in-group cohesion. Modernity leads to atomization partly because so many reference points are now generational, and sometimes it's good to know we have shared experiences - it makes us feel less alone.
Memories can also be a source of inspiration - how much great art and literature hasn't come out of them? Picasso and Dalí surely reminisced, like Hemingway, like Harry Martinsson, like Proust. Of course, as with anything, moderation is key. If performed too intensely or too frequently, reminiscing can lead to the same wistful sense of loss as real nostalgia. It's best in good company and small doses.
***
In retrocomputing circles, there's a lot of talk about nostalgia. While I'm sure an old computer is perfectly capable of triggering real nostalgia for some people in some settings, the word is more often used to describe any activity related to old computers - not just reminiscing. I'd argue that among retro enthusiasts, real nostalgia is no more common than among others, and that reminiscing - much like in other subcultures - is at most a secondary activity.
If someone learns oil painting, guitar playing or chess at the age of ten and keeps at it throughout their life, they're not nostalgic: they've gained a lifelong skill. They might at some point experience nostalgia related to this activity (from a specific brand of strings, perhaps), but that's not the reason they keep doing it. They might, during periods of their life, have less time for these pursuits, such as when starting a family or building a career. When later rekindling their pastime passion, they do so not to relive moments of their youth, but because they still enjoy their hobby.
For me, it's the same thing with old computers. Nostalgia occurs when you miss something that can't be brought back - but my Amiga 1200 is still here, right next to me as I'm writing this, and I've never stopped using it. Of course I have happy childhood memories of gaming, exploring and creating on my old computers, but when I use them today, the things I create - and very often the things I consume - are brand new: pictures, music, demos, program code. Go to any kind of retro gathering or demo party and you'll notice they're very much about making and learning new things with or related to old machines, whether it's about programming, music, graphics, games or hardware tinkering.
***
Computers are tools. Chess, brushes and guitars haven't changed much since long before I was born, but computers barely stay the same from one year to another. Like the painter or guitarist, I made my choice early in life, and I'm sticking with it. That's not about nostalgia, nor is it reminiscing. It's about using technology I know and enjoy.
Despite some of my (tongue-in-cheek) writing on this site, I draw pictures and write programs with my Amiga not because I think it'll bring back the 1990s, but because I think it's fun. A friend of mine is running a BBS on a C64 not because he's living in the past, but because it offers a form of digital communication entirely different from that of Facebook or Twitter. Plenty of friends still compose or enjoy music on the C64 because the sound and properties of its SID chip are unique, much like any other kind of instrument.
Music, art and games are timeless human pursuits. Why should those pursuits be about nostalgia or reminiscing just because they happen to take place on an old computer? When creating, a home computer - just like any other tool - provides certain intrinsic qualities that affect both the process and the outcome. This happens to appeal to some people, while others would rather choose an aerosol, a violin or a brand new PC: the guitarist doesn't want to switch to a keytar, the chess player wouldn't trade chess for Quake, and the painter doesn't think of her brushes as artifacts of her childhood.
In our heart of hearts, we retro geeks know that old computers aren't special, magical machines, even if we sometimes express sentiments to that effect. If they have a soul, it's that of us - the users - and what we create with them. They're hardware sold for profit, just like computers today - but it's hardware I know, running software I learned decades ago. Keeping my old machines ticking may be stubborn, even futile in the long run - but as long as there's fun to be had and beauty to be found, I intend to keep on trying.