I don’t remember the last time I was truly unmoored by the passage of time. It consumed my every being for most of high school: the awareness that with every passing day, I was getting one day closer to adulthood and the unknown. But then the aforementioned adulthood and unknown arrived, and I was . . . fine. I didn’t suddenly morph into a different version of myself. On my eighteenth birthday, the most exciting thing was registering to vote. The terrors of aging were overblown, I concluded, and I finally learned to embrace each passing moment rather than dread it. High school graduation represented a chapter I was ready to close. My 20th birthday—though I’ll admit a little emotional in the days leading up to it as I said goodbye to teenagehood—was an exciting taste of what was yet to come with my 20s. The recent conclusion of my sophomore year of college sets the tone for anticipation and newness as I mentally prepare to be a junior.
But I also know that, as the planner I am, I sometimes get too excited about these upcoming moments. I am counting down the days until a big “exciting” thing happens and letting the current joy fly by, only to reminisce on those smaller moments in the weeks that follow.Â
The constant state of change I exist in doesn’t help. As a college student, I am often moving from one home to the next, craving the place I’m not in as soon as I’ve left. It’s easy to look ahead to the future; there is always a trip booked and people I find myself missing with a ferocious intensity.
This is a very common and relatable experience for our age group, as well. Academics consume most of the year, and then summer arrives. Most of us eagerly await being able to leave the overwhelming nature of a major city, only to find ourselves immediately nostalgic for the thrill we spent all of April wishing would finally end. My friends and I memorialize weekends in October and November that are considered turning points in our bond, even though I can guarantee we were all drowning in workload and stress at the same time​​, not aware enough to process the gravity of those experiences. This personal reflection on change and growing up is especially potent because I’m at the end of something, once again, and realizing how quickly this past school year has flown by. When I say “January,” I mean three months ago, not last week.
And maybe it’s the phrase, “living in the moment,” that feels like a box. It is so simple, but how many people can truly attest to appreciating each day as it deserves to be? It feels like an expectation or rule to follow rather than a reminder to enjoy your life as it is presented to you. It’s been printed on every sort of surface, from stickers to hoodies, and while the phrase seems to have lost its meaning, I am constantly haunted by this requirement I have never mastered.Â
But as I shakily navigate this new decade of life, I want to heal my relationship with both the phrase and the simple act of contentedly existing. “Living in the moment” has no real authority over whether I’m successfully enjoying college, but it offers an interesting perspective, one that discourages looking only to far-off plans. While I say goodbye to the semester and welcome a new summer, I am going to be more cautious about the perpetual waiting period I’ve allowed myself to live in all these years. Perhaps it isn’t entirely curable, but I wish to cherish slow mornings at home, long drives with my friends, and my favorite foods at local restaurants. I think that’s something we can all seek to improve on—letting a cozy night in feel just as special as your vacation in late June. Maybe, then, this supposed “living in the moment” will be found along the way.Â