Nearly twenty one years of life, two decade, and yet sometimes I feel like a child. It’s crazy to think just how much has changed in the past two decades. I look at old photos and the surroundings and clothing look like something out of an old movie. It’s almost strange to think that twenty years from now we will be looking back and having that same reaction towards our present time, this time that we find so modern. This moment, right now, seems so important. To us, it is the only thing. We may have visions of the future, and goals we want to keep, and we may fall into a reverie of the past, but the present tense is what is most significant. It is all that we have. All that we are essentially guaranteed is this very second you are breathing, you are thinking, you are living. It’s almost as if we breathe out sighs of relief every time we exhale, relieved that we get to experience another moment, another opportunity to live. We are not guaranteed that we will wake up tomorrow, we aren’t even guaranteed that we will return home after leaving for work or school. So isn’t it worth to live the best life you can?
But everybody says this, right? Everybody says that time passes by so fast, that you have to live in the moment, follow your passions, be happy. Everybody says that, but how many people actually fulfill this? We all speak a common language. We all speak the language of life, the language of heart beats, of breathing, of being. And we are born into this world, yearning for something, searching for that one thing that will make it worthwhile, when in the end everything we need is within ourselves. Love. But, there’s this disease that causes us to miss the opportunities, to hesitate, to double think and double think and double think, and that is fear. Fear, a self-destruction technique that is taught to us when we are very young, keeps us from living our lives to our fullest potential. We are taught to think that it is important what others think of us, and for this reason, out of fear of rejection, of not being accepted, we mold and manipulate ourselves into fitting that person’s ideals, just for that attention, just to get that reward. But, when you go home at the end of the day, and lay in your room in the darkness and your thoughts, who are you? When you are alone, it is possible that you are closer to your true self than the “you” you present in front of others, because there is no one to please, to judge. Or is there? We all have an inner judge, and an inner image of ourselves the way we SHOULD be, or act, or think. An image created by the fear of wanting to be accepted, because acceptance equals love, but not the way we think it does. So if we are judged by others, and we are judged by ourselves, then who are you? Who am I? Why am I?
Scary isn’t it? To think that who you are right now, may not be who you really are. But, here’s the thing, most of us have no idea what is going on, even when we think we do. We are living in this world, following these rules because we have to, listening to our parents because we have to, going to school, getting an education, getting a job, starting a business, all this because we “have to.” But…is this what you truly want? So many people live their lives out for others, because they think that will make them happy, that making others happy and having their acceptance will cure the loneliness in their heart. And it’s hard, when we have all these voices in our head, and voices in our life telling us to be this way, and be that way, and you should, you should, you should. The only thing we really need, is to follow what makes us happy, whatever it is. Society seems to constrain us by these rules and responsibilities, and I am not suggesting we all act in violent rebellion, simply that we reflect and think “What makes me happy? What makes my heart sing and my chest swell?” Whatever it is, do it, follow it, and do your best. Do your best because you deserve to be happy. Do your best, because fear should not keep you from your birth right. To live, to love, to thrive, to be, and to be happy.
(Image is not mine.)