When I was 21, I learned that following someone else’s path often leads to misery. Not necessarily because it’s a bad path, but because you’ll always regret not making the choice yourself.
When I was 22, I learned that you can travel the whole world without finding yourself. After you come back, you’ll still be you. You can only invent yourself. But that you can do anywhere. Even without moving an inch.
When I was 23, I learned that life only starts when you do. You can plan and dream and wait all you want, but no one’s going to come and kick your butt into gear. You have to commit to something. Only then will the world start coming to you.
When I was 24, I learned that you can’t change a single person’s mind. All you can do is live your life, stand for something, and hope it inspires those around you. Because they think you’re worth watching and it makes them think.
When I was 25, I learned that when everyone tells you you’re wrong, it’s likely because you’re not finished. If you believe in something, give it time. It might be the only difference between you and those who’ve failed before you.
When I was 26, I learned that the most important rules to break are your own. Most of the times you get stuck you’re the one who dug the ditch. You have to find patterns that work, but even the best set of rules only works for so long.
I knew none of these things when I was 20. But what I would tell that kid is something else entirely:
Each year only holds a few great lessons.
The kind you should remember for a lifetime. You must not miss them. Because if you don’t take time to think about life for two decades, it might already be too late.
I’m 27 now. The year isn’t over. I have no idea what I will learn.
But I’m for damn sure paying attention.