If I could corner my teenage self in some dimly lit bedroom plastered with band posters and half-finished ideas, I wouldn’t start with wisdom. I’d start with a firm shake.

Listen up, kid.

First — calm down. Not everything is a personal revolution. You don’t need to fight every battle with theatrical intensity. The world is not waiting for you to explode at it. It’s barely paying attention.

Second — read more history. Real history. Not the sanitized pamphlet version. The messy, contradictory, blood-and-ink version. You think you’re living in unprecedented times? You’re not. Humanity has been running this same circus for centuries. Knowing that will keep you from mistaking noise for apocalypse.

Third — get outside sooner. Put down the internal drama and go find a forest. Climb something. Get lost — safely, but genuinely lost. The woods will do more for your sanity than any argument you think you’re winning.

Fourth — stop trying so hard to look unbothered. You care. That’s fine. Caring is not weakness. It just needs discipline. Aim it. Don’t let it aim you.

And here’s the part you won’t like: most of the things you’re terrified of won’t happen. And the things that do happen? You’ll survive them. You’re more resilient than you think. Less unique in your suffering, but stronger in your endurance.

Also — take the damn photo. Write the story. Start sooner. Don’t wait for permission or the perfect moment. Perfection is a bureaucrat’s fantasy. Action is what matters.

Oh, and one more thing: the heroes you’re tempted to worship? Don’t. They’re human. Flawed. Temporary. Learn from them if you must, but don’t kneel.

In short, kid — breathe. Move forward. Build something. Laugh when you can. Get your boots muddy. And for the love of all that’s chaotic and beautiful, don’t let cynicism convince you it’s intelligence.

You’ve got miles ahead of you.