Go outside

Get out of your room

I’ve met so many people in my first year of university who act like they’ve never stepped outside their bedroom door. Like the world is some distant rumor. Like life is something that happens to other people. And it shows. People don’t know how to talk anymore. They don’t know how to look someone in the eyes, how to laugh without overthinking, how to exist without a screen telling them who to be.

Everyone has become a critic of lives they’re too afraid to live. They sit online judging people who go out, who travel, who make mistakes, who kiss the wrong person, who do embarrassing things as if being cringe is worse than living. At least we have stories. At least we’re out there doing something, even if it isn’t perfect, even if people stare.

At least, we’re living and learning.

Meanwhile so many people act like the only hobbies that exist are gaming and binge-watching Netflix. And look, I do that too. I love cozying up with a movie on a winter night. But when that becomes your entire personality, when that’s all you ever do, you’re not “mysterious,” you’re stalled.

You don’t have to spend money to have a life. You can explore a new neighborhood, read in a park, go thrifting, take photos, try a new café, talk to someone new, walk without headphones and just listen to the world a little. There are a thousand tiny things that get you out of your own head and into the real world.

You are young. You are still figuring out who you are. How are you supposed to discover yourself if you never leave the room you built to hide in?

And can we stop acting like being bad at socializing is a personality trait. It’s not cool to brag about having no social skills. It’s not cool to hate everyone or roll your eyes at any kind of human connection. Maybe it isn’t entirely your fault. Maybe this is what the world has become. Media is replacing real interaction. It’s easier to assume the worst in people when the only version of them you see is online. It’s easier to convince yourself that you “prefer being alone” when the alternative feels uncomfortable or unpredictable. But comfort isn’t living. Avoiding people isn’t living. You need moments that scare you a little. You need connection, even if it’s messy. Because you cannot build a whole life out of isolation and then expect to suddenly feel alive.

We are all so afraid of being judged that we’ve forgotten how to be seen. Everyone wants to look perfect without ever risking anything real. But the truth is nobody remembers the people who sat quietly and never tried. We remember the ones who danced off-beat, who tripped on their words, who laughed too loud, who lived without constantly checking how they looked doing it. You don’t have to be impressive. You just have to be here.

Imagine yourself fifty years from now. Do you think you’ll look back and smile about the weekends you spent lying in bed scrolling until your eyes burned. Do you think you’ll tell stories about the videos you watched on repeat or the games you played for twelve hours straight. You won’t. You’ll remember the night you got lost in a new city with someone who made you laugh until your ribs ached. You’ll remember the concert where your voice cracked from singing too loud, the beach where you froze your toes but stayed to watch the sunrise anyway. The stupid risks. The messy moments. The times you showed up even when you were scared. That is what becomes your life. Those are the memories that stick. Not the ones where nothing happened.

So, I’ll say it again.

Go outside.
Meet strangers.
Embarrass yourself.
Say yes to something that terrifies you a little.

The world is huge and loud and messy and it is begging you to show up.

You don’t have to get blackout drunk or kiss a new mouth every weekend or live like you’re in a movie every second. You just have to live.
Leave your room.
Touch the earth.
Look someone in the eyes.

Stop scrolling through everyone else’s life while you refuse to live your own.

You are wasting time that will never come back.