To the tiny humans that live on planet Earth, traveling at 683,000 miles per hour, hurtling through a universe they barely understand: you think way too much. The first time I heard the term “YOLO,” I was swinging on the swing sets of Byrom Elementary, debating whether or not I should jump from the highest point. “You only live once,” was screamed from below. I’m not sure who said it, but something in my 8-year-old brain was blown. What if we really only live once? I would never experience hurtling towards the grass from 10 feet in the air, something that was honestly a huge feat at 8 years old. So I jumped, landing on my kneecap wrong, and walked to class with crutches the next day.
For humans that only live a blip of all time, 80-ish years out of 4.54 billion years, our anxiety or shame in doing the things we want to do is, honestly, embarrassing. What might seem like a common meme around the world, yolo has always been a test for me, an eye opener for how obscure I am in this universe. Who cares? Maybe God cares, or any sort of higher power you believe in. But living a life on a rock, which only makes up 0.0003 percent of our universe, should inspire us to do something stupid, make the dumb memories, or be so absolutely scared to do something that it makes us realize no one would care either way.
From a universal perspective, every mistake, embarrassing moment or even our biggest achievements are gone in a blink of an eye. Who are we trying to prove ourselves to? Sure, the people around us are strict and rude when it comes to following societal standards, but the truth behind that question is, what if?
What if there are no repeats? No chance to hold things off and wait for a better day? We see our lives from behind a window, anxiously waiting for there to be something so wrong that could punish us in the afterlife. Living in fear of that possibility takes away our most desired dreams, doing what makes us scared, or excited, all under the belief that this is our one and only shot at it.
Maybe it was because of that one person shouting at me from the swing sets, making me realize no matter what outcome, nothing would change out in space, or even in the city I lived in. So I jumped, hurting myself, but also experiencing the feeling of flying towards the grass from 10 feet in the air, something I will never regret, crutches and all.
So, if nothing really matters on a cosmic scale, if we are really just specks of dust flying through a galaxy, maybe that’s exactly why it should matter to us. Maybe the point isn’t to impress anyone or avoid embarrassment or live up to some imaginary standard. Maybe the point is to just live. To jump off the swing, to say the thing, to mess up and laugh and try again. Because in the end, we only live once, and if we do it right, then once is enough.
