so stand on the edge with me
hold back your fears and see
nothing is real till its gone.
–goo goo dolls
I recently learnt that you could die out of fear. Apparently your heart muscles get ripped apart due to over-activity- and this can happen to anyone, irrespective of how healthy you are.
Thank You google, for terrifying me about being terrified.
For I am terrified.
I don’t know what to do with my life, and I imagine its not an uncommon feeling. Everyone I know, who is my age is sitting and staring off into space, aware of a darkness that is lurking in the shadows, called future.
I stand on a certain point, after which I am suppose to fend for myself( technically I can always fall back on my parents retirement plan) I have to make decisions, with which I will have to live the rest of my life.
All my dreams, hopes, aspirations depend on how I choose to live,what I choose to do, and there is no going back.
If this wasn’t terrifying enough, what is more worrisome is the amount of people who will be going off in the dark with me. All of us fighting for the same thing- happiness. And I have never been particularly good at races.
Every time I see my parents, listen to their anecdotes, look around the house, I realize they are success stories. In the morning, I had a minor panic attack in the shower when I wondered if if I would be able to afford hair conditioner on my own earnings.
It is so easy, to want to become something, but then you might not have the potential for it, and end up being the doorman at NASA( with all due respect to the present doorman at NASA, I am not belittling the job, just saying its a poor substitute for an astronaut).
The world has so many success stories, but what happens to the mediocre? I don’t want to be famous,
I just want to be able to afford hair conditioner.
It seems petty, but then I have not earned a penny on my own, and it seems impossible that I will be able to do what my parents have done-survive.
I am currently reading Leo Tolstoy’s War and Peace, and even though I’m barely two hundred pages into it, there is a character I can relate to so deeply. Rostov, one of the Hussars born in affluence who goes to war, leaving behind his fellow 16 year old companions and comfort of furs and affection for glory.
The author relates his exuberance before he faces a battle, and then when he is actually thrust into a war zone, his unimaginable yearning to be alive and somewhere else.
When the enemies are upon him, he briefly wonders “How could they want to attack him? Everyone loved him, there must be some mistake, nobody could want to kill him.
Remember the saying “follies of the youth?”
Every time the author talks from the point of view of this handsome little fool, I feel like that is the doom hanging over my head.
I have in essence arrived at the cusp of exuberant youthfulness, and I will proceed to make terrible, naive mistakes.
Mistakes like going into battle and curling up over a campfire with a broken arm and not one soul to nurse me back to health. (I mean not literally, but then neither was I born in a palace and betrothed at 16)
Silly Rostov, why did you want to be a hero?
Silly me, why did you want to be a dreamer?