When I was in 5th grade I won a goldfish at a local carnival . It obviously wasn't very important to me because I neither named it nor kept it alive for very long. I watched it swim around and around the small glass bowl all day long, and I wondered how horrid and dizzy a lifestyle that must be. So, I reached into the lukewarm water, pulled out the fish, and decapitated it with a pair of ridged arts and crafts scissors. This may be a metaphor, or I may have been a blood-thirsty elementary school kid--but the point is--we were all braver when we were younger.
Now, at eighteen, I find myself feeling more insecure, more unsure about myself, my friends, love, and the whole entire world, than ever. Not in a melodramatic way, earth combusts and shatters sort of way, but in a way that makes me nostalgic for the days when I didn't second guess every move, motive, or word that I produced. Maybe we just don't remember all the anxiety that once existed in our little bodies, and a few years from now, I'll long to be eighteen again.