July 3rd, 2021 | Time travel

If I could go back in time, meet my 20 year old self and show him myself now at 27, I know he would be disappointed.

When I was 20, I wanted to conquer the world. Change the world. Build a legacy. Become a billionaire. Become a rockstar.

I think it’s an age thing. All little kids look in the mirror and pretend to be rockstars or superstar athletes. All little kids pretend that they are scoring a goal in front of 50,000 screaming fans when playing football in an empty park. Or pretend singing in front of a 80,000 people arena, when singing in their bedroom alone in front of the mirror.

It’s almost as if it’s innate to humans to want to be worshipped.

Somewhere down the road, however, you start realizing that very few people get to live that kind of life, since luck plays a huge factor. Also, you realize that everything that shines isn’t gold. That admiration is superficial and people don’t really give a fuck about you. Even if you died, all of them would sleep soundly in their warm cozy bed and carry on with their life.

Maybe you don’t want that life that bad after all. Or maybe this is backwards reasoning, justifying my lack in ambition.

Maybe if I had time to explain the above to my past self he would understand. Maybe he would even agree that living a peaceful life while traveling the world in your twenties is better than slaving away building a legacy until you’re 40 or 50 years old. Who knows.

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