I woke up at 4:32 am and realized that one day I was going to die. This wasn’t the first time I became aware of my mortality at the ripe old age of 27, but it was definitely earth-shattering enough to wake me from my dreams and hold any possibility of rest at bay. I think how it started was with me falling off of a building, shattering into concrete and jolting awake to realize I indeed wasn’t dead, but that I would be. Not there in my bed, since I was awake, but eventually.
I became obsessed with thoughts of how I was wasting so much of my life in the unconscious. Countries never traversed, foods uneaten, and experiences undiscovered because I as a human being was mandated to clock a certain number of hours in dreamland in order to function correctly in society. I would never see the 22nd century. I wouldn’t know the grandchildren of my nieces and nephews and inform them of how they missed out on the age of Missy Elliott and Tumblr. I would just be a collection of matter rotting away in the ground with no purpose. Like George Washington, Malcolm X, and Audrey Hepburn, but without the fame, accolades, and general badassery. I resolved at that moment to do better, be better. I wanted to leave a mark on this world that wouldn’t easily be erased with time. I refused to continue spending my life doing the typical and expected of me and realized that the reason I was woken up at 4:32 in the morning was to declare that change a reality. I sat up in bed, my boyfriend asleep like a rock next to me and grabbed my tablet. It was time to mark all of this down before I fell back asleep and forgot. I opened up Netflix and spent the next 3 hours watching cartoons because honestly, I was too tired and it was way too early to make any kind of life-changing decisions worth merit. When the first streaks of sunlight began sneaking through the curtains, I turned everything off, resolving that I was going to make a difference…later.