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I recently wrote and published, on a public platform, something that had the potential to upset several of my colleagues.
At best, I’m not someone who enjoys confrontation; and while the thought of annoying the abstract grey masses who make up the internet is one thing, having to confront that annoyance face-to-face in the people around me was an entirely different matter.
My thoughts veered (quite rapidly) between “What does it matter? Everyone’s entitled to an opinion,” and “Oh no, they’re going to cancel me,” before finally settling on, “Whatever. YOLO.”
I should preface this by saying that what I wrote was not discriminatory or inflammatory in any sense. However, we live in a society where people seem to be constantly at each other’s throats for issues big and small, and I have unintentionally made it my life’s mission to avoid conflict at all cost. What I found, however, is that there is only so much self-censorship you can do before you become an opinionless, flavourless, colourless ghost with no potential to make any sort of impact. I tried so hard to avoid upsetting people that I whittled myself down from someone who used to take the imperative to make a difference in the world seriously to someone who would overthink the way I answer the phone lest it should trigger someone’s ire. And so, it is no surprise that the realisation that I might have invoked said ire in a real way caused bouts of panic and anxiety to ambush me all the time.
So, to get back to the YOLO business. An acronym for “You Only Live Once,” the phrase became popular sometime in the early 2010s, and was added to the Oxford Dictionary (gasp) in 2016. It has come to denote a variety of attitudes, ranging from those who want to live without abandon to those who want to seize every opportunity, and it is in bed with sayings such as “carpe diem” and “fortune favours the brave.” YOLO is in equal parts consolation, justification, and motivation for the scared, the unsure, the reckless, and the ambitious. Nowadays, I couple it with a jokey “no regrets” to turn it into an ironic platitude; but beneath the humour, there is something comforting in this little piece of slang that has the power to simultaneously make me feel better and old.
There are people who argue that the attitude of the YOLO-sayers is one that justifies reckless and irresponsible behaviour or prioritises instant gratification. And because YOLO is an implicit call to abandon fear—of consequences, of the future, of others’ opinions—it is, to some extent, true. But what attracts me to this attitude is not just the absence of fear, but the prioritisation of meaning over fear. “Use your life to do what you were brought here to do,” it says; “You only have one chance—don’t let fear get in the way of you making a change.”
All my life, I have wanted to be a writer—not just for its own sake (even though I do like the sound of a clattering keyboard), but to bring about positive change using words. I want my writing to bring people to new insights, whether it’s because they discovered something new in themselves or something relatable in me; I want them to live differently, even if just on a small scale, because I was somehow able to inspire them to act. I want them to feel, to think, to hope, and to dream. And the only way I can do that is if I write honestly. Not recklessly and with the intention to harm, but unapologetically, authentically, and free of the fear that has come to plague my every word.
It’s impossible to be creative when we’re self-censoring; moreover, it’s impossible to be real when we’re always holding back. Meaningful action requires us to be honest about who we are and to share that version of ourselves in the face of a world that has become increasingly hostile. There’s no other way to bring about change: either we fess up and face the potential wrath of others, or we hide in the shadows for the rest of our lives.
The sticky thing about fear is that even when it’s being faced, it doesn’t go away. And to me, that is where the philosophy of YOLO becomes important: it’s something to hold onto when my courage wavers and I would rather shelf a new piece of writing than share it with the world. It’s become the mantra that gets me through that moment between deciding to submit something and actually pressing the button—the split second in which my finger hovers over the keypad and I have to choose between meaning and fear.
“Don’t be afraid of making something bad. Be afraid of making nothing at all,” artist and therapist Jolie Guillebeau tells us; and YOLO is a reminder that in a world that runs on fear, there is a far worse fate than annoying a few colleagues.
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