Do You Remember?

Do you remember how when you were younger the summers all lasted forever?

I do. I remember when school was out and suddenly summertime was unconstrained by deadlines or schedules. I measured my days by ice cream truck jingles; I measured my nights by constellations.

“Do You Remember” by Chance the Rapper featuring Ben Gibbard is foremost a song of nostalgia for the past. But it is also a song about the eternity of the present moment as well as hope for the future.

In its confrontation of time, this song is my anthem for 2020.

Ben Gibbard croons while Chance raps. But this collaboration isn’t an intersection of genres as much as it is a merging of the same melodies, a harmony from which the truth emerges.

***

Suddenly, in 2020, the world became much more complex. Of course, nothing about our present complexity is actually sudden. The world has been simmering – it was only a matter of time before it exploded. Regardless, the challenges we face as a society have left me yearning for the pre-2020 world. I yearn for what-feels-like simpler times not because I crave ignorance, but rather because I miss the innocence of being a kid.

Chance reminisces on that simplicity: “That was the summer I learned to love the great outdoors.” After all, playing outside is the ultimate childhood innocence – a simpler version of the Romantic communion with nature. This year and this summer, as quarantine persists, I realize that while I can’t go out, I can still go outside. In this way, the summer of 2020 has been a return to the summers of childhood when the “great outdoors” were enough.

Chance then goes on to tell us plainly, “I love my city.” True to his character, his ongoing love for Chicago is a reminder for us to reconnect with our roots. Especially now, in 2020, as personal identity is being questioned at the least and attacked at the most, a look backwards to where we come from is perhaps the most grounding thing that we can do.

In his reminiscence, Chance continues on, “That summer left a couple tan lines.” Just as any great summer should. Though, in a way, tan lines are scars – good scars, but markings of time nonetheless. And inevitably, this year has already left its scars; this summer has already left a couple tan lines. For better or for worse, 2020 is a year that won’t be forgotten.

But as I yearn for summers of past, as I acknowledge that this year will leave its marks, 2020 itself seems to exist devoid of the structure of time. And Ben Gibbard sweetly sings this truth: “Days disappeared into months into years – hold that feeling forever.”

In so many ways, the never-ending nature of this year has been cruel. Coronavirus won’t go away. Racism keeps coming back. It’s exhausting.

But, at the same time, the eternal present is a gift.

In William Wordsworth’s The Prelude, he reflects on his time as a young boy in boarding school: he was the last to be picked up for the Christmas break and all he wanted to do was go home. He couldn’t wait for the semester to be over. It was over that very Christmas break that his father died. In his constant anticipation to return home, he didn’t realize that he was anticipating his father’s death.

In the same way, as much as I would like quarantine to end, as much as I would like to return to “normal,” forward-looking is also looking towards an end.

At the beginning of this quarantine, my dog was diagnosed with a rare and aggressive cancer. In our immediate mourning, we recognized the gift of timing. We would be home with him every single day. And now, the seeming stoppage of time altogether has been an even greater gift – we are frozen in the present moment together, holding that feeling forever.

But Chance doesn’t let us go without a plea for the future. As a young man, he raps, “Used to have an obsession with the 27 club, now I’m 27, want to make it to the 2070 club.” Here, Chance the Rapper is alluding to a group of famous artists who have died at age 27 including but not limited to Jimi Hendrix and Janis Joplin. But of course the notoriety of belonging to this “club” comes at the expense of a life that ends too soon. Chance sees beyond that. He wants to make it to 2070.

And just as 2020 feels like it may never end, just as it makes me yearn for the past, just as I’m aware that I’ll never forget this year, I still love the idea of 2070. I love the idea that there is more after this. I like knowing that, as much as time appears to have stopped existing right now, years will always continue to pass.

Do you remember?

Of course. And we’ll never forget 2020. But then again, why should we?