There is something about the sight of Christmas trees and the smell of mince pies that brings out the nostalgia gene in commissioning editors. In the run up to Christmas and the New Year, there is inevitably an onslaught of those retrospection pieces in newspapers and on television and radio - a look back at the best 10 pop songs featuring the words "baby" and "can't leave" of the 1980s, or a re-assessment of socialism and botulism in the 20th century. This being the millennium year, we're practically snowed under with the things - this paper has run a commemorative series, RTE seems to be running nothing but commemorative series, and just about every magazine in the country has lists, essays and analyses of the year or decade or century.
It's understandable, of course. We usually get to tell these grand, all-encompassing histories only once a year, about the year - or at most the decade - so it's hardly surprising the urge to re-assess an entire 1000-years-worth of history is too great to resist. Grand retrospectives fulfil a very human need to examine how on Earth we got here: what exact set of historical circumstances, coincidences and mistakes brought us to the state we're in now? On another level, they pander to the love of trivia which, while equally human in ourselves, is twice as irritating in others - "Good Lord, did they really sell that many Rubik's cubes?"
We can bask in the smugness of superior knowledge when looking back at history, a feeling akin to that we get when watching a good pantomine: the rats, you plague-ridden fools, it's the rats that done it! "Don't go to Brighton, Charles, you'll catch your death, and as for you Michael, would you ever steer clear of mBeal na Blath, you know what will happen." Then of course there's the over-riding fascination of examining how far we've come, the metaphorical poring over the map to see what kind of mileage we've put in since we set out.
This is equally true of the kind of personal reflection in which many of us indulge at this time of the year. And just as the media is indulging in reassessment on a major scale this year, many individuals, too, are taking stock of their lives to a greater extent than usual. Many people I know are putting off decisions on things such as jobs and boyfriends and new flats until the new year, as though there is a dose of navel-gazing and shedding of old skins to be undergone first. I used to be a big fan of this annual self-assessment, revelling in a good critical wander down memory lane. To this end, I would write a page in an old exercise book, listing the milestones and achievements of each year. Thank the Lord, these have remained for my eyes only: they are cripplingly embarrassing documents to read now, full of breathy entries such as: "Nearly kissed I. on school trip except he kissed S. instead. Coped with this well." But it isn't just the embarrassment that has made me stop these yearly round-ups of achievements, milestones and turning points: it's something more than that.
Achievements become a lot less easy to define as you get older - is splitting up with your boyfriend an achievement? Then again, is it entirely negative either? What about that promotion at work: is sweating away at the office on a Sunday really a good thing? The truth is that retrospection is a double-edged sword. An examination of past glories can end in a satisfying glow as you gloat over all that you achieved, but it can also end in gloomy despair if you look at the sum of it all and wonder: "Is that all I did?" Maybe things didn't turn out the way you thought they would. Maybe you don't have a boyfriend to lavish you with gifts by this Christmas like you vowed you would. Maybe you haven't polished off the first draft of the essential Irish novel. Maybe you haven't learnt to just say no. But enough about me.
IF we're talking psychobabble, this should really be an empowering experience, one that makes you stop, reexamine your priorities and start again afresh. Like hell it does. Most of the time we just get mired in old failures or even old successes, reliving them, reworking them, revising them. Now, I realise I'm in danger of providing terribly Father Trendy-esque analogies here, but doesn't that just remind you of this country? Aren't we terribly entrenched in a kind of general, all-encompassing navel-gazing and does it ever get us anywhere positive?
Politically, we think of little but old grievances, old swindles and old alliances. Economically, we look back to how it used to be and begrudge those who enjoy the way it is now. People who make and commission TV series do little but raid the archives to make programmes about old TV programmes. Morally, we concentrate on the principles of yesteryear and bemoan the ethics of today. Of course it's good that the scandalous behaviour every kind is exposed, but isn't there a danger that over-concentrating on the sins of yesterday means neglecting the vital work to be done for the future?
As a child, I was often put in the boot of the car as we dropped other children all over the county on the school run. I learnt then that watching the vanishing countryside out the back window was fascinating, but eventually made me feel nauseous. Much better to look forward and embrace the new, grasp the future, and look for the unknown bits of the country coming up around the next corner.