*me at 22….the height of my “feel it” kick

Hezah, 26

Today my friend told me he was on a “feel it” kick. Almost in the same breath he stated that he was on a “super professional self-destructive streak.” It didn’t surprise me; these two things an intrinsically linked. However, it put me in somewhat of a pensive mood, and I started to think about why acting on your impulses and feelings inevitably leads to self-destruction.

I told him that I too shared in the Feel It Philosophy, and to a pretty high degree, I really do. It’s in the very fabric of my nature to leap before I look, and take the risk. I compartmentalize my feelings enough to tell myself to deal with the consequences later. Whether it’s staying up too late to have fun, knowingly engaging in an unhealthy relationship, drinking too much, blowing off friends, or sleeping with people I shouldn’t, I can’t help but do what feels right in the moment. I’ve always been very present.

I started to really adopt the lifestyle when I was 22; I had just graduated college and I felt fucking free. I decided to live my little life to the fullest, vowing to act on my feelings, emotions, and impulses. If it felt good, I just did it and worried about the repercussions later. Yeah, it was amazing, thrilling, and downright fun. I have so many funny stories, memories, hazy nights and a collection of new friends, acquaintances, flings, and people who must have been figments of my imagination.

What I sometimes like to forget is how often those experiences made me feel like absolute shit. Didn’t Pinocchio’s little trip to Pleasure Island teach us anything? In the end, you just end up an ass. All those repercussions, consequences, and hurt feelings that I had shoved to the depths of myself for the sake of a good time just bubbled to the brim, overflowing into a catastrophic mess of tears and pain that required my best friend to drive me home sobbing in my own car.

In my early twenties, just “feeling it” really meant that I felt out of control, and now that time has provided some distance on the subject, I realize these fun memories are actually filled with transients and one night exclusive conversation. It was, in my own way, self-destructive; I knew it and I didn’t care. I thought being self-aware about my emotional spiral somehow made it totally cool. I craved experience, any experience, positive or gut wrenching. I was a little naïve sponge ready to soak up ANYTHING life wanted to throw me.

Why do we do that to ourselves in our twenties? Is it like the muscles in our body; they need to be broken down before they become strong? It’s almost as if we realize that destruction is necessary to grow up, so we welcome bad decisions, questionable nights, and indulgencies as a rite of passage. It almost feels like instinct. We know socking away these painful and euphoric experiences into our memory banks will be waiting for us later in life.  Whether they are later used to learn a lesson, impart knowledge, reach for empathy, or even just to keep us warm on a lonely night, we know they’ll be there when we need them.

I think now that I am a few years older, I am still adding to my emotional and experiential savings account, but I am being slightly more selective. I’m still very young, and have many, many bad decisions to make, self-aware or not. However, I can’t help but be a little older, a little wiser. Red flags seem a little more clear, and even though I still might repeat past mistakes and old habits die hard, I’d like to think I’m still being somewhat more cautious than 22 year old me. Otherwise, what’s the point in growing up if you don’t really change?

I’m only 26; I’m definitely still “feeling it.” And even though I am slightly older, a little more tired, a whole lot more skeptical, somehow it just feels a whole lot better.