When I was 3, me and my dad decided to jump out of a plane with parachutes when I was 18. I don't know what was the reason behind this, but we always said we would. It always seemed so far away. I remember thinking when I was 8 that in 10 years I would be jumping out of a plane. I did this same calculation when I turned double digits (a big birthday milestone) and I did it when I was 13. And now I'm 17, and in 362 days I will be 18. It's a horribly scary thought to me. 17 is a kid, and 18's not.
Also, I would be going to college at this time. Which is the scariest thing in the world right now. How could I possibly leave? I'm still watching Spongebob in my kitchen and eating Kraft macaroni and cheese. Sure, I go to school and have philosophical discussions and talk about literature and symbology and other things of the sort, but I still like to come home and jump on my trampoline like a little kid, and discover old toys in the basement, and play games with my brother and sister. I guess I'll always be a kid at heart, but it saddens me to think it will all go away.
But I can't waste my days wishing that they wouldn't go by as fast; I can spend each one loving every moment and knowing that I can make each moment something beautiful. What would life be if we worried about what could have been or what might come? We can only see so far ahead of us, and we have to remember to live in the present and make what's happening now even more special.