In all my past writings, I think one thing is abundantly clear: I worry. Like crazy. Which is probably why I write about how to manage stress and reasons not to worry about college, because on some level I'm still trying to teach myself. Profound introspection, I know. This time last year, while I was figuring out where I wanted to go to school and how strange it was to grow up and move away from my family, I did a lot of worrying. And crying. That's generally my decision making process. Like this:
- Get scared
- Cry
- Make a pros and cons list
- Get scared again
- Cry more
- Feel bad for crying so much
- Cry because you feel bad for crying
- Stop crying and get stressed
- Notice deadlines are impending
- Make a decision based on the list from step 3
It's definitely neither effective nor beneficial in any way. In addition to this awful system, there were a few variations of one thing, in particular, that people told me about growing up that freaked me out like crazy:
- "You're going to miss this"
- "It will go by in the blink of an eye and you'll wish you could have these days back"
- "These are the best days of your life"
I heard these phrases or some iteration of them pretty often during my senior year. So I would go into this sort of frenzy, trying to appreciate every moment and carpe every diem and this is what it felt like to write a paper on a Tuesday night, to play a board game with my family, to sleep in the house I grew up in. And I'm not saying I don't appreciate those memories. I really do. I have incredibly fond memories. But my frantic attempts to appreciate and somehow preserve them didn't make these memories for me. I wasn't any happier then and my retrospection isn't any sweeter now for having been repeatedly warned that I would miss those days.
Sometimes I do miss them; but it's not because I made myself appreciate them, or desperately tried to preserve them in memory. I miss grocery shopping with my mom, wandering the aisles of Winco and getting sushi from the deli when we were done. I miss the peace of twilight at Downata Hot Springs and lifeguarding a nearly empty pool on summer nights. I miss lazy weekends with my best friend, caring for our digital horses. But these aren't memories I made out of some panic to remember them or enjoy the supposed best days of my life to the fullest. They're the ones I made with the people I love, doing the things we always did.
For me, the moral of this story is this: even though knowing that something will end can make you appreciate it more, there's no reason to worry or try to preserve it somehow. Every era comes to an end, no matter whether you fight or embrace the impending change. My fondest memories are the ones I made spontaneously, without thinking about it. The memories I tried to force myself to appreciate feel, well, forced. And worried, tainted by the fear that drove their creation. If such worries won't improve your tomorrow, there's no reason to let them affect the way you feel and experience your life today.
So when some sad old person tells you that you'll miss these days, they're not entirely wrong. Maybe you will. But not in any way you can prevent, and not even in a particularly sad way. My life is different now, but it's just as happy, if not happier. Don't let anyone tell you when the best days of your life are; don't ever feel premature regret because someone says you'll want this time back. It's possible that they want a time in their life back; it's possible that you will too. But the regrets of others are not advice that necessarily applies to you. Fond memories of the past shouldn't define your future or the way you experience your life now. It's great to look back at wonderful days, but I like to believe there are a lot of good days ahead, too.
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