I don’t know when I stopped being tough. When I was younger I’m sure I was fearless and brave and unafraid of life, people, consequences. I would stay up all night, speak to strangers, take risks, laugh, shout, scream, fight if I had to, and often if I didn’t, live impulsively and party, party, party. At some point along the way I got really, really scared of everything and tried to hide myself away from the world. Instead of shouting and screaming into the wind I whispered into a pillow. For a long time I thought that this was a preferable choice and was part of ‘growing up.’ I have recently realised that this is unbearably boring and have been attempting, with varying success, to do something about it.
In reality the fearlessness that I see when I look back at that old version of myself is a trick of the light and is not fearlessness at all but recklessness that had far more to do with dutch courage than actual bravery. Nowadays I have nothing to hide behind and although it makes me feel vulnerable and exposed, it is also exciting in the way that only scary things can be.
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