I’ve just realized: I’ve had this blog for an entire year. That’s pretty amazing. Sure the posts haven’t been entirely regular, but I’ve only missed a couple months.
Going back and reading through some of the old posts made me realize how much difference a year makes. My life was different. I was different. I had to be proud of how far I’ve come when I read in an old post from last summer how much it sucked that I wasn’t going on any summer adventures…and here I am…working in New York City.
I feel so old. And so young at the same time. I’ve accumulated tons of experiences–joys, heartaches, all that crap–and I’m proud because it lets me know I’m living. However, I still feel the insatiable need to collect more experiences, to hunt them, frantically hoard as many as I can, and clutch them to me like they’re all I have, as if in fear of not being alive enough. A strange sensation. But I can’t stop asking myself, are you living enough? Are you?