Some people never go crazy. What truly horrible lives they must lead.

Do you ever let go and allow yourself to be crazy?

Two weeks ago, I was decluttering my room and I found my old readings from college. I’m not sure why I hold on to these materials; they take up so much space, but I keep them anyway because who knows when I’ll need them…? I’m a hoarder.

I found some readings from my philosophy class and I started to browse through the pages on existentialism.

“The inauthentic man is the l’etranger of Camus, indifferent, tranquilized, unable to make a personal decision of his own. He is the functionalized man of Marcel living in the mass society; the man living the life of monologue of Buber. On the other hand, authentic existence is personal and the authentic man is one who freely commits himself to the realization of a project, an idea, a truth, a value. He is one who does not hide himself in the anonymity of the crowd but signs himself to what he manifests.”

Upon reading this paragraph, I felt two things: disappointed because I relate more to the “inauthentic man”, and excited because now I know who I want to become. I’m 26 years old and I don’t give a fuck what other people think of me. Although I’ve always had this mindset since I was a teenager, I think I really, truly have no fucks to give anymore. As long as I’m not hurting anyone, I’m contributing to the world, and looking out for people, I’m going to be.

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