sometimes often scroll through Facebook mindlessly these days. Not really sure what has gotten into me, but I probably should stop. I’m in a lot better of a place mentally than I was last year, but I sometimes feel that being in sort of a rut can help drive you towards being productive, because — at least, with the way I am — I generally cope with unhappiness by occupying my mind with busywork (i.e., non-vegetative activities: working out, composing music, doing homework, etc.) So it’s a double-edged sword, this sense of mental contentment with life. I’m thinking there has to be a happy medium somewhere, but I have yet to find it.
Aside from seeing the general thespian trolling that appears to be the bulk of my news feed nowadays, I’ll also see pictures from high school friends pop up every now and then. Those are generally more interesting — getting little snippets of people’s lives and comparing it to the impression I last had of them before leaving for college. Especially with the development of this Throwback Thursday culture and apps like Timehop, it seems like my generation is thoroughly investing itself in, well, the past. Not that we necessarily shouldn’t, but it’s a little funny, especially considering that out of the eighty or ninety years that we are projected to live, we have only made it a quarter of the way (maybe less.)
Then again, time supposedly passes by faster the older you grow. I suddenly came to the breathtaking (not in the good way) realization the other day that I am almost a senior in college, a year away from graduating and actually living like an adult human being, not just a coddled college student. In less than six months, I will be the same age as my senior friends from freshman year were when I first met them. I will be four years removed from my first broken heart, the pain of which I can still recall sometimes when I listen to a certain song. Thinking about how much I have changed in four years — not long at all — is unnerving, especially when I think about what I will be like four years into the future. Will I be an asshole? Will I have kept in touch? Will I even be alive…?
I am beginning to really see the effects of growing up with social media as a significant part of my life. It makes the contrast that much starker. The girl who starred as Little Cosette in our high school’s musical when we were in elementary school is now playing Fantine, Little Cosette’s mother, in her college’s production of Les Mis, closing off her senior year (incidentally, the little boy who played Gavroche just returned from a two-year mission trip to Russia.) My sister, whom I remember watching playing little league basketball not so long ago, is playing varsity now. The third-grader who used to be my “little buddy” in the fifth grade is now a freshman in college, smoking cigarettes and going to raves.
Among other things like frogs and guns, I am now afraid of time. Perhaps that’s a sign of being old. At this rate, what is to say that I will not close my eyes to sleep and wake up, thirty years later, to find that everything has changed?