WHAT I mean is that my favorite movie is Fight Club, but I still haven’t read the novel it came from. To be fair, I feel like it would be one of my favorite books if I actually sat down and tried to read it. What’s stopping me isn’t that it’s a book, though, because I do like to read. It won’t “ruin” the movie for me either; I know exactly how it differs from David Fincher’s version. The issue—and it’s annoying—is I don’t want to read it.

A few months ago, I realized that I have a terrible case of saving the best for last. I have a list of films I want to see, but I end up watching something else. I barely wear my prettier outfits in case a more interesting event comes up later on. It took me weeks to listen to Taylor Swift’s Midnights album because it felt like the timing wasn’t right yet.

Basically, I was waiting for the peak.

All the best things begin with an ascent, an excitement from the knowledge that you’ll be partaking in something special soon. Then, you reach the peak or the pinnacle of whatever it is you’re trying out. The peak fills you with a special feeling, as if an integral part of you has changed. It doesn’t matter if you stay up there on the pinnacle for hours or days because the time there always feels like it’s collapsing into seconds.

And then what? Everyone knows being at the top means eventually dropping back down to the bottom.

So everything needs to be flawless when you try out these special things. You need to be in the proper headspace, where all is fine and okay. You wait. At some point, the world will momentarily halt to a standstill and the perfect moment will present itself exactly when it’s supposed to.

I know this all sounds like a pretentious way of looking at movie adaptations and Taylor Swift albums, but it isn’t just about those.

It’s about the idea of settling. It’s about feeling the need to rationalize when and why you deserve the things in life that make you happy. I often felt the need to limit my happiness to a certain level so I can save some for later. The same idea came with reward, with rest. To me, it was about self-discipline. Delayed gratification always did sound so mature.

I had a fixation on the future. I studied over hanging out with my friends in order to enter a good university. I stayed home to work over going to parties all for the goal of constructing an admirable resumé.

“This is not the time for perfect moments,” I’d think. I couldn’t peak at 21—that meant the dread of a downward slope for the rest of my life.

But this attitude twisted into an inability to be proud of anything since every accomplishment made my goals shift further. The moment to experience happiness then never felt right. It was easier to leave things up to fate—waiting for perfect moments—than admit that my efforts weren’t enough to meet my expectations. I didn’t deserve to listen to Taylor Swift just yet. It sucked the life out of nice things, but it felt like the right thing to do.

This refusal to let myself feel happy hindered my development. I loved myself conditionally, I loved myself “only if.” I expected the future me to be better than the current one, so I loved her more. I saved and rationed all the fruits of my labor to ensure her full satisfaction.

It was as draining as it sounds, and it took so long to accept that holding out the best for last made me miserable.

Now, I’m taking baby steps to learn how to value myself. The current me is the foundation for whomever I want to be moving forward. She’s the only person in the universe that can empathize with me in the greatest intensity, that will work her whole life to make sure that I’m well. So it should be absolutely fine to give her little gifts once in a while, to let her know that I see and appreciate her.

Every second is a once-in-a-lifetime experience. You will never be who you are again at this exact moment. Don’t let them slip away feeling like they didn’t do enough for you. What makes you think that this version is going to be any better or worse than who you’ll be next week? Next decade? Who’s keeping track, anyway? It would be far more horrible to look back at your youth and remember nothing.

Baby steps. I’ve ordered the Fight Club book. It should be here soon.