God, I'm Going to Explode

You know what’s the worst?

When you catch yourself playing it safe, even though you have better ideas.

You have better business ideas.

Better, more exciting ideas.

Better things to do with your time.

You have better potential. Better ambitions. Better hopes for your future self.

You have better standards. Better taste. Better goals. And better dreams.

You. Know. Better.

But somehow, it is complicated to become something new.

Who you are is the one with the smart mouth, and the long tee, and the big laugh, and the Irish whiskey. You’re the free spirit, the dark horse, the one riding bareback through the sky. (It’s called a plane.) You’re the responsible one, the goofy one, the mysterious one, and the jokester, depending on who you’re with and where you are and how many times you’ve seen each other cry. You like chicken quesadillas in the morning. And straws in your afternoon coffee. And cozy wool socks on your feet. And damp, rainy days out your window. You are the one they all believe in. The one that gives them spunk. The one that makes hard things seem easy. And the one that tries with all their might to include everyone in the conversation. (Especially the quiet ones.)

Those things? Those quirks? They’re the fabric of who you are. They’re tiny little tattoos on your eyelids. Your emotional DNA.

That includes the less-than-desirable quirks, too: the one where you’re bad with money, bad at staying organized, bad at cooking steaks, and bad at knowing what to say when that person confronts you for not answering your phone.

(Why do the steaks always suck?????????)

So when it comes time to let go of things that are no longer serving us, we (weirdly) prefer to hold on and get DRAGGED. Oh, the places we’ve skinned our knees! All in some futile attempt to feel like we’re still in control. And that we know something for sure in this world. After all, we might not know why Cousin Jerry wears that tacky toupee, but at the very least, we know that we don’t like quail eggs, or baseball, or oak wood kitchen cabinets, or salt.

I’m just kidding, everybody likes salt.

But honestly? Who would you be if you weren’t a photographer? If you weren’t the shy friend? If you weren’t a person who reads books at midnight, and puts ketchup on cantaloupe, and looks terrible in red turtlenecks, and can’t say “I love you” to her father?

Scary.

But you know what else it is?

Freedom.

There is always a new chapter to write, a new hobby to find, a new passion to pursue, a new life to be made.

And you can do it all in so many ways! So many delicious, delightful ways. There are endless opportunities flying around us like millions of little fireflies, and all we can do is sit on our caboose and sip a flat soda and look at the TV and fart.

Maybe we do need those ridiculous little fridge magnets that say “Listen to the wind.”

Because no matter what you do?

You can’t stop time, baby.

You are changing in tiny little invisible ways every day—you’re just not being deliberate about it.

So, if everything is going to change anyway, and nothing is ever going to stay the same?

GO, GO, GO.

Own your life.

Put yourself in charge.

Call the shots.

Make the decision.

Direct the outcome.

Do something big.

And try something entirely different than anything you ever have before.

Because even if it’s not “you,” and even if nobody “knows you as that,” and even if it’s completely different from what you’ve always done, and even if you have no idea if it’s really going to work…

That’s the motherfucking joy.