experience

The argument that experience is knowledge is an old one but how far should we be willing to go to get the ‘rush of life’? Many of the experiences we speak of as important, such as heartbreak, death, birth, love are all out of our natural grasp. They all just happen. Therefore, surely we can be cut some slack and allowed the act of going out purely with the intention of creating what we personally consider as experience such as: a first kiss, going to university, losing your virginity, travelling, hell it could be as small as eating a 20 box of krispy kremes for no reason, all of which are justifiable acts as otherwise ‘we haven’t lived’. Yet who decides what is enough or not enough living, and how far is too far to go just for an experience?

If bad decisions can equate to theatrical stories and ‘experiences’ are they really bad, or simply demonstrative of someone putting true gusto into the humble act of living? Perhaps the easy life is no longer trendy, now we all thirst for the darker sections and turbulent times as they are what makes better conversation at a dinner party.

Are we addicted to life or just making bad choices?

is everyone looking at me?

A couple weeks ago I was on the phone with a friend and I'd just finished retelling a rather embarrassing incident to which she answered with 'that's something I love about you, you just don't give a shit about what others think'.
Admittedly I've always prided myself with doing/saying pretty much whatever I want in public as I strongly believe that strangers remain strangers therefore, who cares what the fat lady licking ice cream or the hairy bloke to my left thinks of me. I will probably never see them again.

However.
Of course I think about what others think, trust me like every other female (granted males may do the same) I am just as concerned about others opinions on 'the big things in life'.
For example: university/conservatoire choices, my thighs, the list continues.....

We constantly worry about opinions towards our insecurities, no matter what they are, it's like picking at an already open wound. I doubt anyone truly doesn't ever care, I just hope we all can realise that it's our opinion of ourselves that matters most -I mean seriously, I have to live with myself literally

what now?

18 years young...?

Here are the life and thoughts of an 18 year old female, half american and half most of Europe seemingly. currently studying violin in Paris and completely unsure of tomorrow

Having always secretly been 'the one with a plan', I now find myself swimming around in a haze of various interests and unable to decipher which would make me happy - some would say that's voodoo bullshit but I disagree. You only get one shot at living so long term unhappiness seems as wasteful as giving a vegan a cheeseburger.

I guess maybe I'll never know but at least I'll have left some sort 'scribble' somewhere on the internet for others out there just as lost, or just for my computer technician to read when he comes to fix my virus'.


P.S anyone else hate all the available fonts ?