They say the older you get, the more you’re afraid of. Is that true?
To a certain extent, I suppose. Or maybe not.
If I were to really sit down and ponder upon it, I’m inclined to think that the increased hesitation and trepidation is less likely the cause of being afraid but more likely the result of having much more to consider about.
As you grow older, there are a lot more at stake when you do certain things. Instant gratification isn’t as gratifying anymore when the delayed consequences hit and you realised just then how badly you’ve fucked things up.
There is a tiny devil may care streak in me, that I do admit. Granted, I’ve never been the type of girl to go full blown crazy and indulge in things like drugs, one-night stands, or hard crime, but I’ve done many a things I wished I didn’t do. Regret, after all, is part and parcel of life.
But that devil may care streak also brought me crazy exciting memories that cannot be replaced.
As I age, that streak has since mellowed, bolstered by a healthy dose of cynicism and doubt that only grow stronger as the days go by. Time and time again though, the devil wins and I end up doing things I told myself I’d never do, then the critical side of me sets in and I chide myself for my actions.
It’s a never-ending battle with myself.