Athazagoraphobia

(n.) the fear of being forgotten

The last 10 years of my life have been a whirlwind. There was school, projects, work; there was no time to rest. I was racing against time to get to — well I know I was going somewhere. I was running as fast as I could, scared that if I stopped, even for a moment, that would be the end. 
 
Then, I finally had to give in. Tired and frustrated, I asked myself where I was going and lo behold, I didn’t know. After countless debates, never-ending monologues, and unsatisfactory arguments, I quit my job and booked tickets to Florida. This was by far the craziest thing I had done in life. During the time that remained at work, I fought the urge to walk up to my boss and tell her it had been a mistake. To ask her to take me back. But I braved on, and went ahead to enjoy a month of doing nothing except traveling, eating some amazing food, meeting old friends, and making new ones. For a month, I had no thoughts about what I would do and it felt exhilarating. Everyday I would swear to myself that I was never going back to the endless deadlines and the 16 hour workdays.
 
However, turns out the vacation was more like a shot of tequila that lasted a month. Back to my senses, I now sit here, nursing a hangover of worries of losing relevance. I still panic at the thought of a ‘stable’ life. I was afraid of standing still and I still am scared of fading away if I stop for too long. I am terrified of losing to the unknown, of becoming just another face in the crowd, lost and forgotten. 
 
Questions plague my mind; what if I were to die tomorrow? Will I be missed? What would be my legacy? What am I leaving behind? Perhaps one day, I will have the answers. And so, with this hope, I run.