Fearless
It may be a different age for everyone, I don't know.
However I'm certain that there is a moment when we simply stop fearing things.
I'm still afraid of heights, for example. Well, rather of falling - heights aren't really the problem.
But, the point I'm trying to make is that there comes a time when you stop fearing life itself.
It is a moment when you become fearless in a way that you decide to live.
When you decide to be horribly straightforward.
You don't come up with any more negatives then the ones worth taking into account.
You just do things. You send reckless text messages (because how reckless can a form of digitized communication be?) and tell people you love them (friends, family,etc not only romantic interests). You tell people they are absolutely magical humans and you cannot believe they really exist.
I love saying, you’re a good person, you are beautiful and you brighten my day or even, you are really getting under my skin please give me a break.
I live my life as straight-forward as possible. Because one day, I might get hit by a bus.
And the moment we assume this; is perhaps the moment we come to the realization that the point of life isn't to be rich, or secure, or even loved.
The real point of life is in the end, to live. To live as deeply as possible.
To experience fully. Dramatically, powerfully, truly.
The goal is to lead a hedonist existence in the search of pure happiness.
Maybe it’s weird. Maybe it’s scary. Maybe it seems downright impossible to just be.
To just let people know you want them, need them, feel like, in this very moment. To diss the toxic, to walk away, to do as you please.
But there is nothing more beautiful than being reckless.
And there is nothing more risky than pretending not to care.
We are young and we are human and we are beautiful and we are not as much in control as we think we are. We never know who needs us back. We never know the magic that can arise between ourselves and other humans.
We never know when the bus might come.
So we might as well just enjoy it.
R. Woodworth
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