It’s never been uninteresting to me so far.
I mourned my childhood when I was 17 and about to leave it. Sat in an empty playground on a swing and cried for an hour. Went home and wrote about it. I wrote a bunch of poems and songs lyrics with chords and things.
Then, that was it. I realized I was wrong. There was nothing to morn except my naivety.
I also wrote a “letter to my future self”, set for my 42nd birthday (because Hitchhiker’s Guide). After the silly cake and happy birthday song, I found that letter and read it, just as I promised myself I’d do. Highly recommended, writing letter to future self thing because spreads out your problems across your entire timeline so they’re not so sharp in the moment.
While I haven’t written him a letter, I have a deathbed Ken view too. “Are you proud of me, Deathbed Ken?” isn’t entirely what I ask myself but it’s that’s kind of thing I consider when I have to decide “am I taking the right course of action? Can I leave a course of action if it no longer fits?” and deathbed Ken gives a phantom nod of some kind one way or the other. Sometimes I listen, sometimes I don’t.