Wallowing Out of Time
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"All the places I return to, all the faces that remind you."
- Wallows, “Remember When”
I used to tell myself I let go. I think I just wanted that to be true more than it actually was. This piece isn’t about missing the past, not anymore at least. It’s about learning when to stop chasing what used to be, and making peace with what’s next.
If you know me, you know I love indie rock-pop band Wallows. You’ve probably heard them trending on TikTok or know them from the actor in Thirteen Reasons Why, Dylan Minnette, pictured below:
Dylan Minnette of Wallows on May 24, 2024 in New York City (Photo Credit: Debra L Rothenberg / Getty Images)
They are a band whose music lives somewhere between nostalgia and melancholy. It fits. After all, “wallowing” means letting yourself sink into a feeling until it covers you completely. And for a while, that was me.
I’ve loved so many people on this campus. Every year brought new friends, and every group somehow found a way to love me despite my quirks.
There were countless hours spent on silly coffee and alcohol runs, so much egregious tomfoolery in elevators and in cramped up dorms (shout out to Leonard Hall!), and nights posted up in the double-sofa nook on the second floor of School of Comm. making a scrapbook, studying with friends, and somehow getting work done. It wasn’t perfect, but all these moments were pieces of me, helping shape who I am.
Maybe you have your own versions of this. Maybe it’s a car trip to a Waffle House, a beautiful Spring Break trip that’s now frozen in your camera roll, or a group chat that once made your heart leap when their names lit up your screen.
Sometimes, these stories run their course. Friendships fade, people grow apart–sometimes naturally, sometimes mistakes are made. I found myself trying to relive the moment, the feeling, the past. Maybe I was too scared to admit it but, this form of wallowing, romanticizing, grieving, wasn’t healing. It was avoidance. It was a way to avoid the fact that I was standing still, even as the world moved on around me.
It’s comforting to wade in these feelings, but dangerous. It keeps you from noticing what’s right in front of you, anchoring you to a version of yourself that no longer exists. Worse, it warps your memory of everything that came before. You start remembering how it ended, not how it felt while it was alive
The longer you linger, the more you expect something that may never come. The silence creeps into old routines. In a song that shuffles on. In moments when your mind wanders and wonders if they still think of you too. It lives in the space where an apology might’ve gone, or where I pretended I hadn’t caused any pain.
As I walk across this campus, I catch glimpses of memories and voices, starting to fade and slipping further away from my mind. Even in this quiet, there still is hope that things will settle where they need to. For you. For them. And they will. That silence won’t last forever.
They’ll be okay. They won’t be alone.
You’ll be okay. You won’t be alone.
Someone else will see their light the way you did.
And someone else will see yours, just the same.
We hold onto those moments, memories, people, because they mattered, because they shaped who we are. I let that ache define me for a while, as if grief proved how deeply I loved. But love doesn’t always look like holding on. Perhaps the quietest way to honor what once was is to let those moments breathe, loosen your grip, and trust that growth still happens—even apart.
No matter what you called them, or how they moved through your life, letting go doesn’t mean erasing. It means making room for change, for growth, and maybe, for the conversations you’ve been too afraid to have.
A piece of all of them will always be with me, but now, I’m finally learning how to leave space for what's next too.
Wallows on August 22, 2024 in Columbia, MD. (Photo Credit: Jhonny Lopez-Lopez / The Rival American)
“Seasons changing, but then again so am I”
- -Wallows, “Pulling Leaves Off Trees”
Wallow a little. Then keep going.
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