I sat on the phone with my childhood best friend, reminiscing of days past in my hometown just across the bridge from Philadelphia. We laughed about growing up with our small, dysfunctional group of friends: road trips, arguments, car trunks, hanging out in the Burger King parking lot at 2 am after graduation (because what else is there to really do in South Jersey).
“Man, we really were our most genuine selves at seventeen,” he mused.
At seventeen I was carefree, outspoken, and surrounded by people that understood how I operated. They respected my values, even if they didn’t necessarily agree with them. We were very candid with our words, but there was never any malice or ill-intentions behind them. No matter the disagreements that could’ve pushed others apart, we always found our way back to one another. We were a family trying to find our way through life together. It was with them I was comfortable enough to be my truest self.
But adulthood tends to fuck things up. Continue reading