It’s a strange feeling when you realize that you’re not a kid anymore. You stand back and notice that all the things they tried to keep from you—cigarettes, alcohol, sex—have suddenly become commonplace and disturbingly natural. You realize that you’re a very different person than you were a year ago, and you begin to feel like your memories from the past were like things you remember from a movie, like they weren’t real experiences that happened to you. Mostly, you become painfully aware of how all this radical change seemed to escape your notice while it was happening, and now that you see what it has turned you into, you feel oddly indifferent about it.
It’s a strange feeling when you make love for the first time and you realize that the only thing that’s changed is your label. There were no fireworks, there was no swelling music, over all, it was utterly unlike Hollywood, and you feel strangely unchanged by the event. And yet somehow it gives you a deeper understanding of life. You realize that everything, ultimately, is about sex. Cars, nail polish, upholstery—everything is about aesthetics, and therefore, sex. You suddenly understand movies and song lyrics like you didn’t before. You slip more easily into social situations and are able to communicate more effectively because you have learned that human interaction is all about flirtation. You feel strong and confident, and yet, simultaneously, hopeless and vulnerable.
It’s a strange feeling when you internalize the fact that change is inevitable. You think about the way your life was, about the ease of routine and the luxury of ignorance, and you realize that, for better or worse, things will never be like that again. You feel panicked and unprepared, but exhilarated and eager to find out what the future holds. Mainly, you feel as if your eyes have finally opened to the world and you are in control. You can’t point a finger at anyone but yourself now; if you screw up, the pain doubles with the weight of guilt and regret, but if you succeed, you feel on top of the world.
It’s a humbling feeling to know how many people there are in the world. The more you zoom out, the less you exist, and the less everything in your short-lived life seems to matter. This thought can lead to desperation, or to enlightenment—I choose the latter. I will do what I want. End of story.
It’s a satisfying feeling to realize all of this… and to know that you would never go back. You look at little children, and instead of envying them for the simplicity of their lives, you pity them for their ignorance. They are not fully alive yet—their existence is purely moment-to-moment; they are breathing and doing, but not much more than that. You realize that you are on an entirely different level of being than they are, and you know that you wouldn’t give that up for the world.
I feel confident. I feel awake and alive.
I know where I’m going, and I am very excited.
I am happy.
