The more years pass me by, the shorter each of them seems.
As a child, a year felt like a lifetime. 365 days made up an immense period that millions of distinguishable activities and events could fill. Now, as a sixteen-year-old, a year is not enough time. For anything. Two years aren’t enough. Five years still cannot quite suffice. Twelve years? Maybe.
Enough for what? I’m not sure. All I know is that, for the moment, no amount of time feels adequate for anything.
In middle school, looking upon the future of being a high schooler, four years felt like it would be plenty of time to do all of the quintessential teenage experiences—all of the exciting things that teenagers do in movies. I definitely believed that I would have all the time in the world to take every class I felt compelled to take, but, as I’m well aware of now, eight semesters are more limiting than they sound.
Even personality-wise, I’ve always tended to think that, as I aged, I would have some epiphany or monumental moment of self-actualization that would shift my entire character to make me someone different. In reality, it’s unlikely that I’ll ever abandon my introverted disposition or Type A personality traits.
One of my most passionate talking points, which I frequently find myself ranting about, is the fact that, in some ways, I feel like I stopped aging after I hit about twelve years old. After I turned twelve, moments that used to loiter by, sprinted ahead, and, suddenly, I became a sophomore in high school who still feels like she’s in sixth grade.
Sure, of course, I’ve matured from the naive twelve-year-old I once was, but most of the integral parts of myself have stayed similar to how they were. No longer does it feel like a year is equal to an eternity, it feels like the amount of time that should fit within a month. I feel extremely close to my sixth-grade self because that was only four months ago, right? Not four years.
If it’s not already obvious, maybe I have a bit of a tendency to fixate on the past, as I know a vast majority of people do. Sometimes, it’s peaceful to just live in the past. Looking back on each period of my life and hyper-analyzing each aspect of the respective season is a pastime that I spent a bit too much time on.
This year, in 2024, I want to focus on the present. Specifically, making the most of the limited time that I have left as a teenager. I already am aware that, before I can sufficiently grasp, I will be sitting in my bed, another year gone by, making plans for 2025 as I am making plans for 2024 at this moment. For that reason, getting as much as I can out of each of the 366 days of this year is one of my most important resolutions.
Aside from focusing on academics and coping with the hectic agenda that I subjected myself to for my sophomore year, I need to force myself out of my comfort zone a bit more. Instead of returning to my introverted roots and spending an evening in solitude, I want to text friends and ask them to spend time together because, even though I’m usually exhausted all of the time, I know that I’ll enjoy being with them.
Particularly in the summer, I want to do the things that every year I tell myself that I will do, but never seem to actually get around to. Last summer, a few of my friends and I talked hypothetically about going to a drive-in movie theater, which we all wanted, but somehow we never ended up going to one. In 2024, I am making an executive decision that we will be going to a drive-in movie theater at least once before the summer is over.
Going swimming is another activity that I seem to like the idea of, but don’t do it more than a dozen times each season. This summer I want to drive to one of the many coastal towns around Michigan with my friends and have Pinterest-esque beach days more often.
Even though I’m trying to make each day exciting and unique this year, I highly doubt that my life will ever slow down to the speed that it felt like it went as a kid.
Above any other resolution I made for 2024, I need, and will, optimize my moments in the new year.
