“You are your own worst enemy” -Every adult ever.

There, unfortunately, could not be a truer statement.

I have this cursed habit of holding crazy high expectations for myself and the situations I am in. When I make plans with friends, dreams of majestic summer picnics and strolls around a park, a cool breeze whipping through my hair, play through my mind. In reality, we often just order a pizza and watch a movie. Granted, some of the most amazing nights in my short life were set in front of a friend’s TV, gorging myself on Dominos. But my bad brain often chalks most of my social attempts and my own personal achievements to mediocre, therefore making the day another waste of what is left of my youth.

There is a song by London Grammar entitled “Wasting My Young Years.”

The title alone scares me.

Over the past year, the anxiety of a wasted moment has begun to weigh down further and further on my shoulders. I envision myself, eighty years from now, a stooped over witch, jealous of her teenage grandchildren and all they have yet to experience. I don’t want that. I don’t want to sit in a rickety, old chair, wishing away the day—willing to trade anything to have functioning knees back and a relatively stable metabolism. I don’t want to regret not doing anything.

I just graduated from high school two days ago (hence, the reason I am so emotional and terrified of what lies in the future), and I am noticing more and more just how much I save. All the pictures, the notes my friends gave me, receipts with cute little doodles on them, ribbons that hung on an unprompted gift given to me. I write everything down as well. Every feeling, every wish, every hope, every day dream. All of it.

Everything. Including the expectations.

In my conscious mind, I know that there is so much more of my youth left. But what if there’s not? I don’t want to regret not being able to get a tattoo. I don’t want to regret staying home instead of going out. I don’t want to regret all of the weight I will inevitably gain. I don’t want to regret who I am or who I’ll become.

It’s not enough to just exist.

But how am I expected to thrive when the act of existing is coming closer and closer to ending?

“Blessed is he who expects nothing, for he shall never be disappointed.” -Alexander Pope

-Alexandra