say what you will about Taylor Swift, but she got a lot right about being 22.
cause there will come a night when you’re feeling happy free confused and lonely at the same time.
actually, there will come many of those nights.
don’t let them pass you by.
there will be a night when you’ve been out way past your self-enforced bedtime (which you set in an attempt to get a handle on this thing they call adulthood) and you’ll find yourself driving home at 2 a.m. and you’ll turn the heat on in your car for the first time this season, because there’s a september crispness to the air.
and you’ll be grateful for the friends you just left, the friends that will stay up till 2 to talk, the friends that will bring you anything you need when you get sick.
if you find those people – hold on to them.
and you’ll drive home and you’ll marvel at the lack of traffic on the streets, and it might hit you all of a sudden that you have no idea how you got here. how that many years slipped out from under your fingertips.
it might hit you that you have tonight. and maybe that’s it.
maybe you’ve never been good at that whole carpe-diem thing. that’s okay. but know this, darling, when you realize no one promised you another sunrise: you don’t want to wake up when you’re 70 and not have good stories.
no. you want stories.
you want stories of nights that lasted long past bedtime and best friends that stuck by your side and adventures down new roads. you want stories of mistakes made and lessons learned. you want stories that leave your listeners slack-jawed in awe and rolling on the floor in laughter.
if you want those stories, you’re gonna have to live them.
so if you find yourself in a car at 2 a.m. one september night, turn off the heat and roll down the window. let the chill hit your cheek, a gentle caress to remind you: you’re still alive.
you’re alive. and you’re collecting stories.
make sure they’re good ones.