There seems to be a judgment surrounding the “past” in contemporary culture.
In another article, I deconstructed the myth of the “present”: namely, how the seemingly absolute experience of linear, causal, and discrete temporal bubbles of “past”, “present”, and “future” is but one way of experiencing time.
From an existential perspective, though, in any given moment, we experience what might be described as the-past-as-presently-lived-and-future-directed. Rather than existing as isolated bubbles, our histories, our present circumstances, and our imagined futures continually and simultaneously shape one another.
Underlying that myth of the “present” lies another observation.
Whether in therapy, social media, or everyday conversations, we are often encouraged to “move on”, “let go”, “don’t let your past define who you are now”.
The “wise” thing to do appears to involve loosening our attachment to the “past” lives we have already lived, and instead orienting ourselves towards the “present” and “future”.
There is certainly something compelling about this way of experiencing and perceiving the “past”. Many of us have experienced moments during which painful memories narrowed our sense of possibility, while orienting towards the present moment brought a renewed sense of openness.
Remaining in the “present” appears to be one way amongst many others of relating to difficult memories, particularly during moments in which we might act, think, and feel in ways that deviate from our preferred sense of self.
In many ways, contemporary culture seems to privilege a particular understanding of time: “the present liberates us; the past confines us”. There is a moralization of time—the “present” is treated as better than the “past”.
There is certainly some truth to this. Our lived experience, however, seems to resist such straightforward conclusions.
At times, the “past” narrows the possibilities through which we understand ourselves. At other times, the “past” offers continuity and clarity about our developing sense of self.
Likewise, attending to the “present” may allow aspects of our world previously concealed to emerge once again. Yet, there are also moments when emphasis on the “present” obscures histories potentially liberating and illuminating.
The “past” and “present”, then, don’t seem to possess fixed meanings like how society tend to prescribe. Rather, they adopt particular meanings by the ways in which we live them.
This becomes especially apparent when we consider our identities.
Someone may introduce themselves through a previous occupation, a former school, a community they once belonged. Another might introduce themselves through their current profession, present relationships, or roles they currently hold in their private lives. Still another may introduce themselves through an identity that has yet to be realised: an aspiring writer, artist, entrepreneur.
Our identities also isn’t solely what we think of ourselves and who we want to be. Whether we see ourselves through our histories, our present circumstances, or our aspirations, a part of us wants to be seen by others, and often in a preferred way.
In conventional sense, notice how each temporal orientation doesn’t appear to receive the same kinds of judgments.
The person who continues to foreground previous identities seems often understood as someone who is “holding onto the past”, who cannot “move on”. Their relationship with the past seems more readily described as “attachment”, often with an underlying sentiment that remaining connected to what has already been is, in itself, “problematic” or “unhealthy”. There’s a subtle sense that such a person is out of touch with reality.
By contrast, to describe oneself as one’s aspirations seems less treated as evidence that one is detached from reality, despite speaking about a future that hasn’t yet actualize. Introducing oneself through an imagine future seems to invite greater acceptance, sometimes even greater encouragement. Doing so is often celebrated for its positive association with ambition, hope, and purpose.
Why is an imagined future positively interpreted as hope, while a lived past is negatively perceived as “attachment”?
It appears, then, that not only do we relate differently to different temporal horizons, we seem to evaluate these relations differently. Certain ways of relating to time, upon which we base our identity, are more readily associated with “psychological health”, while others are more easily pathologized.
Phenomenologically, however, the distinction isn’t as obvious. What is deemed positive or negative isn’t that simple.
Slowing down enough to examine our lived experience, it isn’t immediately apparent that any time horizon is necessarily better than the other, especially when we consider the functions and meanings we each uniquely ascribe to the identities we associate with a particular temporal horizon.
To foreground the “past” doesn’t necessarily mean that one has become disconnected from the “present”. Reminiscing about childhood, introducing oneself through a previous community, or continuing to identity with a former role doesn’t necessarily mean that the “present” has somehow disappeared from one’s world, or that one is somehow out of touch with reality.
Again, from the existential perspective of live temporality, the person speaking from the “past” is no less present than the person speaking from the “present” because our lived experience is rarely disclosed through only a single temporal horizon.
It becomes difficult to understand ourselves as only inhabiting the “present” or to “let go” of the “past” like letting go of a ball, as though literally severing yourself from your histories.
The same can be said of future orientations. Those who introduce themselves through possibilities yet to be actualized aren’t necessarily absent from the present or somehow delusional.
Moreover, just as much as “holding onto the past”, “being in the present” can sometimes lead to “negative” outcomes as well.
Someone who strongly identifies with their present identity may be rightfully interpreted as expressing confidence and authenticity. Yet there may be moments in which these identities become genuinely constraining and performative. We can “hold onto” present-oriented identities just as much as we do with past-oriented ones; the former can be as “constraining” or “liberating” as the latter.
The existential implication here, then, is perhaps we’re seldom only who we were, who we are, and who we want to be. The distinction is less neatly defined and definitively segregated. Which identity and temporal horizon are positive and negative isn’t immediately apparent or true.
Maybe what matters more than judging is understanding how one lives their histories, current circumstances, and aspirations.
This is why I tend to hesitate when people, despite good intentions, too quickly suggest others to “let go of the past” or “be present”, as if immediately implying others’ relationship with the “past” is inherently unhealthy or bad.
I rarely have an accurate sense—I don’t believe I’ll ever have—of anyone’s relationship with, and experience of, time, to so readily evaluate, judge, and define their experience based on stereotypical advise that can often come across as platitudes, or to filter their experiences through psychological language that is often experienced as pathologizing.
I do not know deeply the meanings others have ascribe to different temporal horizons to so confidently prescribe any one of those subjectively lived horizons as objectively “better”.
I do not know sufficiently how significant certain identities are to people to so quickly judge them as “unhealthy attachment”.
Before judging, prescribing, and defining, what might we reveal instead by asking the following questions first: How do certain ways of relating to time become moralize, and how does this moralizing shape the identities people come to normatively recognize, define, and accept as “psychologically healthy”?
Perhaps more interestingly, regardless of which temporal horizon, there lies a more fundamental question: Why do you wish to be perceived in a particular way? How do you wish to be understood by others and the world? What kind of possibilities and limitations do certain identities bring for you?
About the Author
Hello, I’m Gary: A recent Anthropology graduate from Yale-NUS College, and an incoming student pursuing a Masters in Counselling. If I were to describe myself in a sentence — which is impossible, but I’ll try nonetheless — I’m currently someone who’s in a perpetual existential mood!
I invite you to join me on my journey of writing to make sense of that mood, myself, and this crazy, complex world. I’m not following a fixed structure, so I don’t know what I would come out of this conviction — I guess we can only find out as I write!
