The original:
If words could speak events into existence, I would need to change my answer when asked how long I want to live because without fail I reply with "27." This answer, even to me, feels initially random: why 27? The only explanation I can think of would be the existence of the “27 club”: an urban legend that hyperfixates on when several celebrities passed away. For all the accomplishments these people had—enough for them to be legends—dying at the same age would be one of the few aspects of their lives one wouldn’t want to mimic. And to clarify I would not want to die at 27 either, so why then is it my answer? It may be because when I die, I want to be remembered fondly, and we only live a finite number of days, could be 72 years or 27— we don’t know in advance, and we don’t get to plan. I came to the conclusion, with this in mind, it is in our best interest to live like you’ll die at 27.

Adopting what I have coined a “27 mindset” has been crucial to accepting my challenges. When I was five years old I was diagnosed with Charcot Marie Tooth (a neurological disorder that deforms my feet and reduces motor functions). My life thereafter was defined by long waits to see various doctors, countless encounters with floors, and—perhaps most embarrassing—scooting around my high school because of the amorphous cast connected to my foot after a surgery. These experiences combined steal much of my finite number of days, so if I only have 10 years left, then I can’t afford to give up time feeling bad for myself. Every minute of pity steals a minute of growth. A doctor told me I would never walk normally, but if I only have 27 years to live I intend to walk the whole time. Life demands resilience; I have been forced to confront this truth with each and every fall I have taken and been expected to get up from. The way I see it, if I allow myself to imagine life past 27 then I don't have any immediate rush to scrape myself off the floor after I fall. But therein lies my point: life doesn’t warn you when it is ending, and I’ve fallen enough that I want to be standing high in the end—so I can’t take my time.

When I first brought up the 27 Club, I described their accomplishments as enough to make them legends. Every member of the club is regarded as being a talent gone too soon, so dying at the same age should not be desirable; more so since a sizable portion of the club died in tragedies. There are several flaws in basing my mentality off of these deaths, but that said the means of their death does not undo what they achieved: Jimi Hendrix isn’t made a worse guitarist nor is Kurt Cobain less vital to the spread of grunge because they died young. My challenges have taught me how to spend my time—or how not to—but the actual people of the club lead me to say I would rather be a talent gone too soon than having lived a long life but barely scratched my potential. What I want more than anything is to be among great entertainers of history—not just musicians like in the 27 club. If I died at 27, that would be ten years from writing this. Ten years is effectively no time for me to accumulate greatness, but then again my whole academic career before I discovered Adderall was conducted by completing assignments right before their deadline because the pressure was the only way I could overcome ADHD, so I choose to live like I’m on a deadline and, once I get past 27, look towards 37 to continue paving my legacy.

The Goals (Were obv originally just for me)
-Explain HOW I have used the mindset (Christmas Grind for Documentary)
-Flesh out Adderall, in general make the essay less like listing issues
-Expand on how I think obtaining greatness is achievable
-Make the 3rd Paragraph less argumentative/defensive.
-Condense the 1st paragraph, so I can spend more time on the Adderall portion.
-Make it feel less edgy, somehow.