Reckless Youth - a relatively, somewhat, kinda, maybe, oldish person's ramblings/hypoethesis

I was in the shower. I've been reading a book and one of the characters reminded me of me when I was, uh, younger. This slingshot me back to the days of old and, surprisingly I'm not surprised, the memories that were drudged up weren't very super awesome ones. They were quite shitty and generally lead to a mild-to-severe feeling of grotesque remorse. Like I'd just uncovered a decaying body, the memories like a bad smell you can't quite wash out of your hair.

With age comes the realisation of limitations. Some are A-OK like realisation of temporary permanence, you know like, this too shall pass. And the other, when you realise you're basically calcifying in your body - well that one sucks balls but it's the very thing that forces growth. Emotional growth because, let's face it, your body's pretty buggered.

I hypothesise that when we're younger, the time we've spent in our shells, our bodies, hadn't quite solidified our sense of barriers, of limitations. We were like rock stars, drugged up to the gills sitting atop rocketships, Pluto-bound. Our understanding of death and destruction - innocent - because we hadn't experienced it yet, and if we have our interactions with it were lighthearted because, "What the fuck was gravity?" (Jokes. Kids don't really say "What the fuck. Or gravity. And defs not necessarily in the same sentence.")

This is where I'm coming from with the whole reckless youth thing.

Until we realise limitations, thanks to years spent locked in bodies that slowly seize up, which force a sort of awakening that's also known as growing up/becoming wise, we don't have the parameters that allow us to see the consequences of our actions. Or better still, we don't have [adult + binoculars = aduloculars] glued to our eyes. We're not like, "Hey you, bad decision chilling by the fence, I see you and I'm most assuredly not going to fall for that one... Nice try, dickhead." We don't think like that because we're borderless. Free. But this freedom comes with a price tag and that, my old(er) compadres, is the weight of our misguided, childish decisions we carry around with us. Some call this regret but I like to call it one helluva story. And, depending on how drunk you are, it's one you tell with the kind of oh-my-god-I'm-awesome confidence you later regret (God, again with the regret, when will we learn?). Or one you whisper into the ear of your psychiatrist under fluorescent lights that bark judgement down upon you from their lofty seat above.

ENDSIES XXX