It’s become evident to me in the past week that a self-inflicted metamorphosis is necessary to enjoy and excel in life. I used to think the act of growing up and maturing would happen on its own, that one day I’d pick up on some hidden piece of knowledge and realize that it’s time to pick myself up and work hard, but through analysis of my own life, and a meta-analysis of the conversations making up the former, I’ve concluded that growing up is more so an acceptance of the way things are, rather than simply an aging brain.

All 17 years of my life have been served to me on a diamond crusted platter, the main course a loving, well off family, and the side dishes natural intelligence and good looks. This entire ordeal, my childhood, is drawing to a close. The platter is almost empty, and I’m completely defenseless against the reality I’m about to face.

As a child, still, I like to think that I’m above structured society. I like to feel superior to the drones miserably working 8 unfulfilling hours in a cubicle, neglecting their free will and neglecting the world around them. I feel so superior, because, in my mind, I recognize existence as a cluster of vibrating particles accidently experiencing itself. Because of this mindset, my life has no purpose. I reject the society before me, and I look at myself naturally instead of religiously. What’s my motive for living this life if I think I’m unfit for the 21st century and that there’s no god or ultimate purpose to live for? What’s keeping me from letting myself die and wilting away alone? I’d pass and time would continue undisturbed, I’d return to nature, blissfully embracing the inevitable nature of death and the return to unconsciousness. That’s what life’s all about right? Dying?

There’s more to it though, and I’m prepared to merge. I’m prepared to stop complaining about the reality ahead, and instead do what I can to ascend within it. I can hate society to its ignorant core, but the fact is, I’m part of it, and thinking it’s just a fundamentally flawed collection of weak willed individuals, while a part of it, doesn’t make me any better. It just makes me childish. Societal rejection is the fear of growing up, and the inflated ego it creates just assures you that you’re the intelligent one.

The kid in his air conditioned room sitting in a warm sweater, using a $400 phone, stomach full, contemplating how much he despises the system that gave him every comfort he’s grown used to is simply neglecting the fact that everything he loves is the product of hard work and societal conformity. He’s neglecting the idea because it’s the demise of innocence. Acceptance of the persuasive irony of cultural cynicism is simply postponing the unavoidable transition into adulthood, and it hurts. It hurts to realize that the truth is just as depressing as growing up. It hurts to accept that the enlightenment you proudly stumbled upon is just an excuse for laziness and a buffet for your ego.

So what do you do about it? Do you pray to the God you decided to reject in a fit of teenage angst for the answer? Do you leave your neighborhood and move into the wild, sleeping in a cave, alienated from civilization and convinced that primal isolation is the key to happiness? Or do you embrace the hopelessness we all feel but struggle to communicate? You have two options: pity yourself for your life’s meaninglessness and bask in a lifelong existential crisis, or find where you fit into society and succeed at something realistic. The world isn’t going to wait on your choice.