February 27th 2015
Today I want to expand on something I tried to blog about on Wednesday. Wednesday’s post “Hip” wasn’t one of my better ones, in fact it was awful and I’m barely considering it as a post, but I am impressed that I remembered to post it after coming in at 4am.
Anyway, what I was trying to say on Wednesday was that right now, for some reason, I feel young. Now, I am young, I’m 21, but I don’t think or feel young. For some reason ever since In turned 21 in September I’ve felt, well, old. I’ve said “Come on James, sort your life out, you’re twenty one years old.”
And I have felt old. And I’ve panicked over getting things done, feeling that time will all too soon escape me. But, barring some freak accident where I’m hit by a falling piano, I do have time. I’m young, and healthy, and I should be in no rush to throw my life into something so huge so suddenly. I’m barely an adult, I’ve not graduated University, I shouldn’t be demanding myself to have finished and published a novel before I turn 22. That’s absurd.
A reader on Monday commented “Make the most of having time” And I’ve kind of taken that two ways. It can mean that I have a very limited amount of time left on plant earth, hopefully that time will be another 50 or so years, but it is still limited. Because, as far as I am aware at least, I am not yet immortal. So I need to make that time count. I need to make the most of it.
Or, conversely, it could mean that the time I have now will be the free-est I will ever have. I won’t lie and say that I work my ass off at Uni, because my course is a doss during term time I have one homework sheet every other month and apart from that I have nothing else to do with my time. But should that mean that I dedicate it to “work” completely?
That’s the question, really.
I can either choose to enjoy the time I have whilst I’m young, or I can make it worth something.
Tomorrow I’m going to Bristol for the night with friends.
Until tomorrow, I am, for now at least, still young.