February 13, 2013
February 13, 2013
Reaching the point in your life when you have an existential crisis isn’t exactly appealing, especially when you’ve yet to even roll into your second decade of being alive. They seem to strike when it’s least expected and can last for an uncomfortably long time if left to sit in the back of your head.
A friend and I had stopped by a coffee shop one sunny afternoon, not really having anything to do in particular, not really looking to do anything in particular. It’d been a little too warm and I’d already shrugged off how silly it was to get a hot drink in the middle of July. We’d been sitting quietly, waiting for our drinks to arrive, two lattes because all of our originality in drinks had been drained from the increased boredom. I flipped through a couple pages of the book I’d been reading when she let out a sigh.
Cassy only sighed like that for a couple reasons. It wasn’t long or drug out like the ones she over exaggerated when she was teasing someone. It was soft and unintentional. It meant that either she was falling asleep, or something was amiss.
Without looking up from my reading, I asked: “Something up?”
I didn’t get a reply for a moment.
I glanced up to see her staring idly out the window watching the cars pass by. It wasn’t a very busy street. It wasn’t even a busy town. The coffee shop was only a crack in the wall in comparison to most cities. I watched for a moment as well, trying to see if maybe I could see what she was seeing. I was never very good at guessing.
“It’s just so sad to think about.” I raised an eyebrow to get her to continue on. She gathered herself up, a little more than flustered. “Everything! I mean, in the end, what does it all mean? To anyone else? Like, do we just get thrown in a history book or family photo gallery? Unless you do something important, no one’s going to care in ten years if you’re not around.”
I remember that making a lot of sense. It’s hard to really grasp that you exist to people when you’re not talking to them. It happens all the time, and we’re told our ‘ears are burning’ when someone is talking about us, but it’s still a weird concept, to know another conscious person gives thought onto your person. What did it mean to actually matter after your presence wasn't able to be around anymore?
“You just live and do what you want to do. If you’re genuine, they’ll know. And they’ll remember. If you leave an impression, they’ll remember.”
I don’t remember if anymore was said that day, but I’d gone back to my reading when our coffee arrived. It stuck with me from that day on. I meant what I said. I’d make an impression every chance I could. No matter what.