growing up

We live in a world where people are easily influenced. Heck, I'm a writer and influencer for a living, so I get this in its most extreme state. But when it comes to the nitty-gritty — the big life decisions — I want my son to have a strong head on his shoulders and do what he instinctively knows is right for him.

The “you” who opens their eyes in the morning isn’t the same “you” lays down their head in that bed that night. In those few hours of consciousness you have more exposure to life, you experience a world of compassion and cruelty that has the potential to change the trajectory of your entire life.

It was Nancy's thin privilege that obscured her ability to see what Barb saw in the Popular Kids, to make the social leap that Barb couldn't, and that led her to ultimately symbolically (and actually) leave behind their friendship when a more normative offer presented itself.

I'm 23 years old, I don’t want children, and every elder who discovers this feels compelled to tell me how wrong I am about my own feelings.

Those who would find themselves genuinely excited about simple, fun things are often written off as losers with nothing better to do, while the jaded pat themselves on the back for how mature and intelligent they so obviously are. However, the longer you look at it, the more you begin to notice that it’s quite the opposite.

I’ve been 20 for, like, a whole month now — which is the most adult I’ve ever been. I’m certifiably ancient. Upon reflecting over these two years of arbitrary official adulthood, I thought to myself, “Self, you have so much to offer the world! People certainly want to hear what you have to say!” And so here we are. (Approximately 3 out of 5 Republican uncles will think this intro is dead serious.)

There’s almost definitely a better way to begin this, but I can’t think of one more appropriate. Growing up is really fucking weird. One day you’re having a great time arguing if Doctor Doom would beat Darth Vader in a fight (he would,) and next thing you know you’re worrying about taxes and whatever a “mortgage” is.

The fear of my parents getting killed driving me there or back loomed around every decision. I always went with my parents on every errand possible, pretending I liked the grocery store.