My advice to you is this:
Jump on planes, on trains, into cars of people you know that have no destination. Play your music too loud. Eat the last cookie. Get a new apartment. Throw out that old pair of pants. Stop to look for the four leaf clover. Talk to that old guy at the bar. Learn a new language and speak it badly until you don’t anymore. Tell that person whose wearing that jacket or shoes you like that you like it. Pick up a book you’ve never heard of before and read it before you google it. Watch movies with subtitles that never won an Oscar. Hide love letters for yourself. Don’t ever think love is too far away. Make a plan. Throw all your plans away. Take a class that looks boring. Learn how to sew and knit and crochet and make ugly scarves for people you love. Sit in the dark often and just close your eyes and breathe. Dance in the middle of the sidewalk. Scream into the wind while holding hands with your best-friend. Cry in public and don’t look away when someone sees your tears. Laugh at books on the train. Yell at the person who hurt you more than anyone. Call your mother or your father or the person who dared to raise you and thank them, berate them, tell them how disappointed and/or happy they made you.
Most of all, take chances that might leave you destroyed, obliterated, strewn across the earth in a million pieces.
I can promise you this, I will stake my life on it: nothing is in pieces for long. I am proof of that.
You might be too.
And if you aren’t, you can be, if you just take a deep breath, take a chance, and let yourself explode.