It’s Thursday, and like many slaves to the gram, I just uploaded a picture of me as a baba to Instagram, slapped an ‘earlybird’ filter on it, and shared it with the world with a #tbt hashtag. Isn’t it fucking cute (I look like an egg).
Throwbacks are very much en vogue; ever since it became oh so easy to share your every whimsical thought with the world on social media, and even categorise that shit with a hashtag (which by the way I never thought would catch on), people everywhere have been sharing their nostalgia for their past selves (but only on a #throwbackthursday, or the occasional #flashbackfriday if they miss the boat).
While this is all well and good, and I often find myself double tapping that shit, it does make me wonder just exactly what’s wrong with the here and now? I read another blog recently that asked a similar question: why are we obsessed with tomorrow? Beware, babies, things are about to get a little deep around here.
So when we’re young whippersnappers, we spend our days longing for the future, agonising over the sheer inconvenience of not yet being a fully grown adult, resenting the current adult population for having what we haven’t got, and trying to act well beyond our years. And that’s a real fucking shame, ‘cause once we reach adulthood, we find out that it’s not all it’s cracked up to be and spend the rest of our lives wishing we could turn back the clock, investing in creams and surgeries to make ourselves look and feel more youthful.
Is there ever a time in the human existence when we’re truly happy with the here and now?
I think it’s fair to say that we’re all pretty content at 18. Old enough to feel like an adult (you are officially an adult at 18 after all) and young enough not to have to shoulder any adult responsibility, our 18 year old selves feel indestructable. It’s a really fucking difficult time of your life at 18, though, choosing whether or not to go on to university or to head straight for the working world; in my opinion we make those important decisions at too young an age (I chose English Literature as a life path for fucks sake, was I thinking of my career? No. Was I thinking about Harry Potter? Yep.).
Even at 18 we’re still being told to look to the future; to plan ahead so we don’t end up like obscure cousin who made all the wrong choices and ended up living in a bin (who probably doesn’t exist and is just created by your rents to scare you into working harder). Through a boozy haze, we choose which path to head down, and while it might be alright to read Shakespeare for three years, it doesn’t give you many real life skills.
If I were to give any advice to the me in today’s #tbt (other than make sure you audition for the role of Hermione Granger and try invent the iPhone before Steve Jobs), I’d tell her to enjoy being a dependant annoying child, and not to worry about rushing through time to adulthood. I’d also tell her to lay off the cakes and avoid the Jaws ride at Universal, under pain of death.
The Courteeners will tell you that you’re not 19 forever, but you will be for at least a year, so you may as well just enjoy it while you can (it’s been four years since I’ve been 19, sob).
Time is a motherfucker. It’s no wonder we all want to head back to our baby days by the time #throwbackthursday comes around.