I feel like Peter Pan should have entered my life a few years ago to tell me to slow down. Youth is an exhausted topic. There’s an urgency to fulfill the standards of these days before I’m settled and obligated. I was so eager to engage in as many things as possible that I’d finish half of a project and move on to the next. Fear of missing out. Fear of being misunderstood. Fear of uncertainty. I have so much to say but no voice loud enough to let you know. Or you know. Or him know. Or her know. This age is frustration and fear. This age is happiness and energy. We’re free to do whatever. We’re conscience of what our parents would think. You’re turning into them. I’m turning into them. I think as they do. I react as they do.
Who are we when we’re with them? Who are we when we’re with peers? When we’re in a foreign country? When their hugs are thousands of miles away? Their smiles are in your memory because their Skype password is lost in the ether. When you forget your iPad charger and pair of sandals in the US? The frustration. This experience abroad has offered a lot of time for serious reflection: Beach or write an essay? SPF 30 or 50? Beer or wine? Like I said, serious.
I can attempt to satisfy the standards of youth by being as adventurous as possible while documenting everything. I won’t miss anything. I won’t forget anything. I also won’t live it the way it should be lived. There are delicate moments in our life that are lucky enough to have been sheltered from our iPhones or DSLR’s. They remain only in our memories. The days with real decisions being made: see-saw or swings? kickball or hop scotch? juice box or milk carton?
I’m searching the sky for the second star to the right–I won’t tweet about it. I’m waiting for morning–I won’t instagram it.
I’m growing up. Peter Pan, save me.
(sorry for the randomness and pointlessness of this. it’s late and i felt like writing something irrelevant.)