“Grow up you’re nearly twenty five.”
The words echo through my ears in a dark London morning, 7.47 to be exact, as I listen to Franz Ferdinand while watching the sun rise above the suburban houses from the blurry tube window. My first ever term is over and I’m on the way to get on a big jet plane and go home. As the houses slowly wither away, I’m desperate to catch some final glances of the city I live in, even if it’s just a sad tree or a curtain being pulled.
Life consists of moments. Yet we never seem to acknowledge them before they end. I look back on memories via photos, old text messages or words scribbled on the corner of a notebook. I look back with a deep sense of happiness, mixed with envy. I think it would be fair of me to say that it is more envy than happiness. I look forward, noting trips on my calendar, dreaming of the food I’ll eat, the workouts I’ll smash; yet again, with envy. You must be thinking to yourself, is she crazy?
Nope. Not at all. I envy the past. I envy the future. Yet this brings out the major question in my head, probably yours too:
But what about the present?
Do we acknowledge the present enough, or do we wait until it becomes the past to make it mean something? We don’t actually live in the present. We always want the one we can’t have. I feel like acknowledging this is the first step to actually make the days count.
And I will make them count. Yet not starting from “tomorrow” or some other day in the future, starting from today.
More being nice to acquaintances.
More giving people a chance.
Let yourself be.