Everything is urgent and profound when you're young because there's no basis for comparison yet - no substantial past to measure against, no lasting self-determined place in the order of things. Whatever moves you is bound to be transitory and you know it, and your tentative selfhood wants to bear witness in some fixed way.

I'm still young, but not so young that I don't have a past or a necessarily (in)consequential role to carve out right now. I miss the vitality of existence being vastly, headily fleeting. So, 18-year-old me would have, in all earnestness, cataloged the snapshot memories of Presentness. Maybe 23-year-old me ought to relearn something about everyday poignancy through blogging. It would take being a lot more shameless, and it would force me to call up my friends to have something about which to feel and write. (I live with my boyfriend Michael, but we get descriptively boring pretty fast.)