Youth is wasted on the young.
Who said this? Who condemned me to worry about this simple adage and fear that I am letting the best years of my life slip away from me? Why do these words, each uninteresting on its own, suddenly smush up next to teach other and then threaten me menacingly, telling me to carpe diem and to stop sitting around on my butt waiting for life to happen? It’s a wicked trick to play on people. For, to arrive at old age, one first needs all the stumbling and failings (the triumphs and successes!) of youth, a merciless battle to survive to even be able to sit around once again and think about the youth that preceded it. Why should I feel bad, then, once again examining my “Spectre of Uselessness” as I did so long ago, and wondering if it should not haunt me for the rest of my life?
I booked a spontaneous trip to Istanbul today, just to counteract such listlessness. I had planned, in my way, to back out of it at the last second, having told my roommate and friend that it would be fun to go. I planned to say, suddenly, that the money was too great, that ich habe kein Lust. But, he’s been uttering an equally finicky and judgmental maxim of late, something about it never being the right time and never having enough money, but you may never get free time again. He’s older than me by 6 years, so I’m going to assume that his own youth and experience have influenced this begotten conclusion, and so, I go. I sit in bed and I lament my hastiness, dread asking for money again, wonder how much I will have to transfer from my savings to cover the “damages” and to ward off a money transfer from my parents for another two months.
Put on the Killers- “Everything will be alright.”