Growing up

_If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster_    
_And treat those two impostors just the same._

When I was 18 years old I thought I was special. I remember reading books about famous mathematicians and scientists and thinking to myself: “one day there will be a book about me!” I used to think that past loves would one day regret losing me, not because of what I gave to them, which, frankly, never was much, but because they would read an article on a newspaper talking about my accomplishments. How childish. 

Growing up is tough; it implies coming to terms with the idea that you are by no means the chosen one, that you are just another human trying to get by. I know, I know, it sounds like I am a pessimist. I am not. Being anonymous is a relief; you succeed by being happy and enjoying life. There’s not much more to it. Life is a lot calmer when you don’t have to code 4 hours a day (because that’s what Bill Gates did) or stay awake another hour (because Leonardo da Vinci only slept 2 hours a night).

It’s an overall improvement. I can now cry, laugh and love. I can go to parties and sleep for 10 hours straight without any remorse. I can do what I enjoy and forget about being the best. I know that this mentality never got anyone far, but that’s not my point. If you truly go far, if you live your life to the fullest and become the best version of yourself, it will be invisible to others. True heroes despise recognition.

At the end of the day, what matters most is who you see when you look in the mirror.