I’m anxious to live, isn’t that strange?

I feel like…

my fear of not living is the thing actually stopping me from living.

Don’t worry, I don’t mean literally living. I am well and truly alive and breathing, although it doesn’t always feel that way.

Growing up in the generation of a constant stream of consuming media has made me anxious that I’m missing out on the ‘teenage dream’ life I should be living. I wake up and stare at a wave of images, of rebellion, freedom, kids my age with perfect friends and perfect bodies. They haunt every moment of my day, their silent presence mocking my so severely average life.

The more I try so desperately to have a more adventurous, bold, picture-worthy life, the less I actually live it. Why don’t I just enjoy the precious moments of youth I do have in my control, and stop letting my fear of being normal stop the teenage memories to mold in their own time?

“To live between the prospects of an unknown eternal sky and a dark, enveloping earth must have been glorious” – a book I can’t remember the title of 🙂