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Tuesday, November 30, 2010

Sometimes when I am alone, I get the overwhelming feeling that I will not make it to thirty. Talk about a scary thought. It's as if Death sits down bedside me casually, as if he wants to light up a cigarette and sip scotch while saying, "You know, you really don't have that much longer to live. Just thought I'd let you know." With a careless smirk, he would sidle out of the room, his trail of cigarette smoke lingering in the room.
It's not that I'm necessarily scared of death. I'm sure if you've thought about it, which I think most people have, it is not a pleasant thought, but to me, it is natural. And it's not like no one has done it before.
I just don't like the idea of not being able to accomplish things. My list of goals and dreams could supply all of California with toilet paper for a month. And yet I can't stop adding to it: travel to all 50 states, publish a book, watch all Lord of the Rings movies in marathon setting.
Maybe all these thoughts of where my life is going are stemming from the fact I am now twenty. If I live until I'm eighty, I've already lived a quarter of my life. It gives me chills to think about.
So many people complain about their good fortune, myself included. I know sometimes when college gets crazy and all I want to do is go home, it's hard to be thankful for just the opportunity to go to school. Today has been one of those days. But, when I really think about it, I am happy for the stress and pressure. It wills me to accomplish things that otherwise might sit around and never get done. The pressure motivates me to be all I can be, to reach that top level of self-actualization. It's nice to hope that in the end, it might just all pay off. I hope that through my hard work, some day I might just be able to publish that book. Some day, if I save enough money, I might be able to travel the world. I'd rather die with my dreams unanswered then never have dreams at all.

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