When I was in high school, I ran an extremely strict program. Every day followed the same routine: wake up, go to school, eat, sleep, repeat. There wasn’t much room for spontaneity, and doing anything outside of that schedule never really felt like an option. I loved coming-of-age media; I’d read books like The Perks of Being a Wallflower and listen to songs like Lorde’s “Ribs,” but I never truly related to them. My love for those stories came from longing rather than recognition. I wanted to live inside those worlds, but my own life didn’t feel like it qualified.
For a long time, life seemed boring. I thought I needed a different life, something more cinematic, more exciting, more worthy of being romanticized. It took time for me to realize that I was looking at those stories the wrong way. You don’t have to step into another world to experience what makes them special. You just have to look around and become present in what’s already happening.
Why coming-of-age stories feel so special
Coming-of-age stories are hard to define because they’re so ordinary. They aren’t about huge plot twists or perfectly curated lives. They’re about people simply living, walking somewhere with headphones in, sitting in silence with friends, crying when things get overwhelming. The beauty of the genre isn’t in what happens, it’s in how we’re taught to notice the quiet moments and decide that they matter.
Once I started thinking about life in a more simplistic way, everything started to feel a little different. I stopped waiting for something major to happen and started paying attention to the in-between.
When romanticizing life becomes necessary
One afternoon, I was sitting on Landis Green waiting for a class to end so I could grab coffee with a friend. I wasn’t doing anything special, just observing those around me. Around me, someone was playing guitar, a group of people had set up a picnic, and someone nearby was crying on the phone. None of it was perfect, but all of it felt beautiful. Everyone was existing in their own little world at the same time, completely unaware that someone else might be finding meaning in it.
I think about that moment a lot, even though nothing about it was staged. It reminded me that life doesn’t need to be extraordinary to be meaningful, and the most impactful moments are the ones that happen authentically.
This way of looking at life can become essential if you are facing loss, grief, and some low moments. During times that feel overwhelming and heavy, I don’t like to pretend everything is okay or force false positives. What really helps is grounding myself in the present and remembering that life still goes on.
There were moments during this last year when I broke down crying, and while the sadness was real, there was something oddly comforting about it. Being able to cry, to feel that deeply, felt weirdly beautiful. Vulnerability is uncomfortable, but it’s also a privilege. Feeling sadness means that you’re connected; it means that you care. Oddly, experiencing the full extent of these emotions showcased how fragile life really is.
adopting this mindset
Romanticizing your life isn’t about living in a fantasy or ignoring reality. It’s about appreciating what you have while you have it. It’s about being grounded enough to recognize that even the hardest moments are still part of being alive. This mindset can encourage mindfulness without turning it into another perfection project. It can help you slow down and step out of autopilot, finding meaning in what’s already in front of you.
Inside Out is a primary example of how feeling the full extent of our emotions makes us present; you can be sad and grateful at the same time. You can be struggling and still find pleasure in small moments, whether it’s a conversation that lingers, a line from a song that you really heard for the first time, or the comfort of people who make life feel a little lighter. Romanticizing how you view life doesn’t erase hardship but instead exists alongside it.
When you’re focused on noticing your own life, you’re less concerned with whether it looks impressive to anyone else. You stop measuring your experiences against someone else’s Instagram highlights and start appreciating them simply because they’re yours.
Finding joy in the in-between isn’t about forcing meaning where it doesn’t fit — it’s about recognizing that meaning has been there all along. It’s easy to forget how fleeting life is when we’re constantly rushing toward what comes next. Romanticizing life is a way of slowing down and honoring the present moment, whatever it may look like, which won’t happen again in the same way.
This version of you will never exist again, and in my opinion, that alone makes it worth paying attention to.
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