33 Before 33: 13

13. Love is in the details

Note: I figured I needed to alternate the dangerously heart-achy objective posts with either a bit of humor or just good ol' takes on love. The mood struck, a rarity.

Last Sunday I made a food run with my dad to a Mexican restaurant. I bought him a burrito. Before we even got home he said:

“Ohh. I forgot, your mom's probably not gonna eat this, there’s pico de gallo in it.”

I always assume my mother is not hungry. She feeds herself at odd ass times of the day and only consumes the blandest forms of sustenance ever. When I purchase food or when we eat out at restaurants she usually just eats off my dad’s plate. It didn’t occur to me that she might eat some of that burrito, nor was I aware that she has a personal aversion to pico de gallo—but my dad knew.

My parents aren’t very affectionate with each other. Their preferred method of exchanging tokens of love are trading playful verbal shots at each other, with extra sarcasm (gee, I wonder where I got that from). However once I saw them hold hands while walking down the street. Once.

They don’t shower each other other with gifts. They don’t openly publicize cheesy couple stuff on social media, my dad doesn't have any accounts. My parents are low-key and they always stay in their own lane. Their love shines brightest when you catch them both laughing when one of them roasts the other good—at least I think so.

When planning a vacation my dad sources out the nearest Chinese or Japanese restaurant to their hotel. They’ve been to more countries in Europe than myself, and they’ve eaten Chinese food because my dad is fully aware that my mom doesn’t feel like she’s had a proper meal unless she consumes rice. 

I’m not so much impressed that my dad compromises on eating amazing food while traveling abroad—it’s that he’s cognizant of the fact he has to book a hotel thats within proximity to jasmine rice, almost every time. Sure, you can interpret this as a husband’s adaptations to his wife’s predispositions—but it’s more than that.

I’ve watched my mom predict my dad my whole life. I’ve seen her take mental notes of my father’s favorites, preferences and dislikes for as long as I can remember. After all these years they have a sort of silent rhythm together, this beautiful cadence that has developed over time.

It might sound mundane, boring even…. nah. No way.

Love has this odd way of making you subconsciously listen, even when the object of you affection isn’t necessarily speaking. You might watch them get ready in the morning, while they put on make-up or shave, or note that when they undress they cross their arms while they pull a shirt over their head, or maybe you've noticed that they've ordered a cobb salad 3x in your presence so they're probably partial to them. Little things. Minute pieces of information too small to admit you pay that much attention.

Yeah, love can be grand, elaborate and obvious, but it can also be in the minuscule details.

33 Before 33: 14

14. Brain vs. Heart vs. Vag/D vs. Gut

I believe there are 4 separate parts of a person that affect their individual decision making process.

• The brain
• The heart
• The vagina or dick
• The gut

Sometimes one of these decides to lead the show, maybe its 3 clashing with each other, and if you’re really fucked—its all 4 going battle royale style.

The brain

The brain is the center of all reason and the least fun. This is the part of the body that relies solely on facts. Its purpose is to compute rational decisions. The brain doesn't need a lot of time to choose for you, it's 100% objective. What is the best option on paper? The brain tells you right away, it's every other part of your body that makes you indecisive, after all... you're not a robot.

The heart

The heart is either the most selfish or selfless decision maker, I don’t think there is any middle ground. The heart is the most torturous judge, it's also easily the strongest or weakest part of you at any given point. The heart has all the feelz. All. The. Fucking. Feelz. BTW, this mother fucker has allies, it has a full squad motivated by touch. Watch out for your hands, cheeks and lips cause they’re all in cahoots with the heart.

The vagina / dick

Don’t listen to this fucker. AT. ALL. Its only objective is to experience pleasure, as inconvenient and crazy as the opportunities may be. Actually, I take that back. If you can’t settle for wack privates from the opposite sex you shouldn’t settle. So fine—let them chime in, but don’t let them run the show unless you want to be ruined completely.

The gut

I’ve never mentioned the gut. The gut can over rule all the other stake holders if it so chooses to. The gut needs zero rationale, yet it can give you the strongest motivation to sway to any particular decision. This one might surprise you, almost always.

33 Before 33: 15

15. Master the Irish Goodbye

I’m a huge sucker for peer pressure. HUGE. It is easily my biggest social weakness. I fall victim to peer pressure on a regular basis, however I’ve been in hermit mode since fall began so I’ve been less susceptible to the strong coaxing of my friends for the past 2 months.

The crazy thing is I don’t even believe in FOMO. I am always secure with my decisions of whether or not I stay home or go out. I just get weak as fuck when I have 2-5 people blowing up my phone, urging me to go to whatever event is happening.

It’s the fucking stroke of the ego that gets me. Are you aware of the validation you feel after 5 separate people are telling you to GTFO of your apt and meet them?

I’m not that cool, guys.

Wait. Yes. I am.

Anyways that’s not the point.

My point is sometimes you get stuck in social situations that go over their time limit or your patience, sometimes your buzz wears off and you’re too sober to enjoy the shit show happening in front of your eyes, and sometimes you just need to make an appearance to show face (because you’re not a complete recluse).

The answer… my friends… is the Irish Goodbye.

It only really works if you’re in a very crowded place or if the host/celebrant is too busy to keep track of you. 

Pro Tips:
1. If it’s super late and you’re a female let one other person know you’re going to dip. Choose the least drunk or most understanding person. That way if anyone asks they can vouch for you and your safety. Text them when you arrive at your destination.
2. IGNORE ALL TEXTS YOU RECEIVE AFTER LEAVING (respond in the morning), unless the person sending texts is genuinely concerned with your well-being or location. Otherwise you’re going to get: “BITCH, WHERE DID YOU GO?!?!” “YOU DIDN’T SAY BYE!!!” “YOU OWE ME A DRINK NEXT TIME!!!” Etc. Etc. Etc. Congratulations… If you receive texts like this people like you.

33 Before 33: 16

16. Patience is a virtue. Timing is a bitch. 

I don’t think I ever really get anything in life when I want it.

The universe could give a fuck about my ideal schedule. As a matter of fact it likes to add on complicated detours—just because.

Divorce? That was never in my plans, obviously.

But here I am, experiencing various delays (according to me).

I had a crush on Ex-Mr since 7th grade woodshop class. We used to exchange perverted hand-written letters to each other, you know—the kind that were folded like this. He made it known that the feelings were mutual, however I slept on him and someone else swooped him up by the end of 7th grade. TBH, I wasn’t ready to have a boyfriend anyways.

Throughout the years we always kept in touch, some better than others but the flirting never really ceased. When senior year hit we shared two classes and were in the same cotillion court, resulting in a dangerous amount of face time. BTW, he still had the same girlfriend from 7th grade. Eventually I went savage and stole him away. I guess I got tired of waiting. 

The chemistry was always there, the timing wasn’t—well… until the universe made it blatantly clear.

In 2008 I visited New York for the 3rd time. I was in a bar in Park Slope in Brooklyn experiencing a nice buzz when I looked Ex-Mr dead in the face and said:

I want to live here. 

I expressed my desire a few times after coming home. We were already engaged, I wanted to experience NY before kids, a dog and a mortgage. I wanted to go before the idea no longer sounded possible. We could’ve done it, but he didn’t have it in him.

I didn’t actually have the opportunity to move until 2013, as you know—by myself. 

In 2010 Ex-Mr and I made a bet that if the Giants won all the way I would get off birth control and we would try to conceive a child. After never winning a World Series in the city of SF they did it. 

However we never got pregnant. It wasn’t in our cards.

Since turning 33 I have felt a heavy weight on my chest. All of the sudden I feel a strong urgency to watch how much time I have left on the clock and settle down. Yeah yeah, I know—I’m still young. So I guess the same pattern emerges…

Patience is a virtue. Timing is a bitch.

I don't get the things I want in life when I want them, I get them when it’s right.

SO FINE... I’LL JUST WAIT.

33 Before 33: 17

17. Nothing lasts forever

The bad news is: nothing lasts forever.
The good news is: nothing lasts forever.

I’m an odd mixture of viewpoints. I’m objective, a realist with low expectations and yet a small part of me is a deranged romantic. I like to hold on to the last attribute as much as I can, that side doesn’t get to express its excitement as much as I would like. I also harbor a stupid amount of anxiety.

Depending on whatever it is you’re experiencing in life this perspective is a 50/50 toss up. 

It’s a fucking paradox.

Sometimes I think about the span of my lifetime and realize: this ain’t shit. Most of us have only been making adult decisions for the last third of our lives. All the struggles and highlights I’ve written about for the past 4 years—that’s just a small blip in the overall timeline.

I contemplate where I will be at double my age and what kind of heartbreak and joy I will see.

Can you imagine tho? Life at 66. Twice the life, except this time IT’S ALL ADULTHOOD and 100% unpredictable. 

Told you—I’ve probably been anxious since birth.

The day-to-day struggles I endure on the regular, the post-divorce loneliness I frequently battle are all pretty much insignificant in the long game. The tides will turn and happier times will eventually ensue, I have no doubts. However this period is likely to have a time-limit as well, it’s inevitable.

The fact is human life is precious and fleeting and it’s a fucking roller coaster… 

So I will ride out these shitty times (because I’ve been riding a shitty wave for a minute), because what goes up must come down—and vice versa.

33 Before 33: 18

18. You need to look back to see how far you’ve come

It’s 6pm on a random Tuesday and I’m having dinner with Ex-Mr. He owes me, its been a month+ since my birthday and we haven’t been able to find any time to catch up.

Who still manages to dine with their ex-husband?

*raises hand and looks around* 

I do, every once in a while.

I kinda hate how he can still look at a wine list and easily choose one without my resistance. Tempranillo—done.

He still doesn’t possess the ability to call me by my first name. I don’t make anything of it, my pet name was never that “lovey” in the first place. Old habits die hard I guess. 

We discuss the fact that I moved out almost exactly 4 years ago, that 3 years ago he visited NY and was forced to announce he was expecting a child. We toast to our current status, that I’m abnormally obsessed with photos and videos of his daughter, my ability to give him objective advice when it comes to relationship hardships with his baby mama/GF (real talk, I probably side with her perspective more than his) and how far I’ve come with my career. I start telling him I probably need to try dating again soon and that I have a crush on one of my coworkers.

He has helllllaaaaa good taste in music. I hate it. I hate how he has such good fucking taste in music. He’s married tho, so… dead end. His wife introduced herself to me the other day.

He jokes: “HAHA! Why should that stop you?”

We both laugh way too hard. Between the two of us we have an even more fucked up sense of humor. Go figure. He tells me that I won’t be alone forever. I joke that I just need good sperm. He reassures me that I’ll be fine. I don’t believe anyone these days when they say that but I’ll take it.

After a few hours I tell him that we’ve almost reached his curfew and it’s time to go. We split our leftovers and call individual Ubers home.

He doesn’t bite my face when we say goodbye. That was a specific habit he couldn’t break for years, even after we split. I blame it on muscle memory. I’m glad he has a 2.5 year old to bother instead. I mean it. 200%.

We’ve come far, super fucking far.

33 Before 33: 19

19. I’m thankful for my hoe-behavior phase

Note: I said “hoe-behavior” and not “hoe” directly. There is a difference. 

I was in Vegas a couple of weekends ago. The boys went on a late breakfast run and witnessed a woman returning to our hotel on a walk of shame. “She was hurrrrtin,” they said. So we went in with our individual commentary and shared our favorite personal experiences.

Me: Damn. It’s late, even for a walk of shame. It’s 11. My ass would’ve been up at 6 trying to avoid the maximum amount of witnesses possible.
Boys: You don’t know what went down last night. You don’t know how hard or how late they partied.
Me: Gah. You’re riiiiiight. Ok true.

AND THEN I GOT HIT WITH A WAVE OF HOE-BEHAVIOR NOSTALGIA… 

My least-detected walk-of-shame involved a full day at work. I slept over at the dude’s place because he was an investment banker and our dates were always at 1 in the fucking morning. By the time we were done being consenting adults it was 3am. He didn’t care about sleep overs and he lived 5 blocks away from my job. I wasn’t about to go back to Brooklyn, plus no one saw me in that outfit because I actually changed for the date. SO I WENT TO WORK, but I hit up Duane Reed for toiletries and freshened up before anyone arrived at the office. I was asked multiple times that day if I had a date after work because of my dress. Nah, but I had one last night. *side-smirk emoji here*

Then I thought about the time my roomie caught me in heels clacking down the hallway on a Saturday morning in a full holiday-party outfit and overcoat. She caught eyes with me as I was passing the kitchen, erupted with laughter and asked: “Did you have a good night?”

Ugh. I didn’t even get D that time. But I got a good story…

I have plenty of great stories. Trust me.

After I shared with the group in Vegas I kinda sighed to myself, wondering if that part of my life was over. My SF conquests have been extremely tame in comparison. If 2 years in New York scores as an 8.5, I would give SF a 3. It’s weaaaaaak.

I receive a ton of encouragement across the board—to do my thing, to fuck around (safely), to take advantage of being single and having my own place, all of it… I think about whatever kind of silly shit I still have on my single bucket list (cause I have a bucket list for all different avenues of life) and I consider “hoe-behavior mode.”

Sleep with a hot bartender is #1 on that list.

I end up contemplating the idea for a millisecond, but it never sticks. It no longer sounds fun.

You know what sounds fun?
A fucking Farmer’s Market on a Sunday.

I don’t want a bartender. I want a boyfriend. 

But damn… *smiling to myself* if I could tell you about those 2 years in New York.

33 Before 33: 20

20. I do not believe in forevers, at least for me

Ex-Mr did a number on me, because of him I will always be slightly broken and I have accepted it. It’s ok. I’m like a permanently injured animal you see out in the wild and wonder how they lost a limb or move with some kind of limp. I’m internally scarred.

I can’t tell if I’m a realist or a pessimist when it comes to love and relationships, but my views on monogamy, matrimony and the concept of “forever” are all kinda fucked. I apologize in advance if you find this post depressing.

I had no doubts when I married him, but over time he couldn’t keep his vows or commitments to me and I was destroyed. Our storybook life came to a screeching halt and I woke up to a nightmare.

Maybe I feel this way because no one has come around to try and prove me wrong. Maybe I have these views because I realize how mature you can be with ending relationships and how it’s healthy to accept life as it is and move on. Or maybe I’m just crazy—I’m not sure. It’s probably all of the above.

So I figure I can have 3 great loves in my life: 

1. Ex-Mr
   Despite how dejected I sound I would never change a thing—as tumultuous as the ride was. We fucking loved each other—intensely, and we had a hell of a time together. Chapter closed.
    
2. Future Baby Daddy
   I always joke around that I’m hunting for husband no.2 or baby daddy no.1. At this point in my life it’s clear what my priorities are. This is love so great he’s worth sharing a child (or 2) with, but eventually life kicks in and forever doesn’t exist. But we have a shit ton of sex and laughs (sometimes at the same time) until then so its cool.
    
3. Grow-old-love
   Honestly this one will probably be my favorite, sorry #1 and #2. I imagine this one gets to travel Europe with me cause we’re too old to visit hip and adventurous places, so we do lame city tours and crack jokes about the facts we learn. This is the sweet one I sit on park benches with while we take walks and people watch (i.e. criticize for fun). This is the one whose wrinkles I touch and whose hair I watch grey.

Then again, maybe forever love does exist. I wouldn’t mind being proven wrong.

33 Before 33: 21-22

21. Real is not necessarily rude, it’s just real

At the beginning of July El told me the first thing I probably ever said to him. He reminded me that we met at Golden Gate Tap Room while watching the 2015 NBA Finals.

He said I turned to him while leaving the bar with my order and said:

Sorry. I didn’t get you a drink. I just met you, so I didn’t get you one.

I don’t recall saying those words exactly, but knowing myself—I definitely said it to him. Granted, I was probably handling a level 6 buzz at the time, meaning I am much more comfortable saying things of that nature to strangers.

He told me he was slightly taken aback but also very impressed: “Damn. This girl is hella real.”

He could’ve interpreted my statement as rude, he could’ve written me off and been a dick to me from that point on, but he took my candor as a genuine statement (which it was). It’s not that I don’t have a filter (I am very good at reading social situations), I just always have to vet you. At this point in my friendship with El, I'd buy him a dozen drinks, easily.

There can be a fine line between real and rude, you might misinterpret one from the other, but the older we get you’re probably dealing with the latter, check your feelings at the door. Decipher the two properly.

22. Love is inconvenient

I have decided I want to be inconvenient as fuck for the next man in my life (not on purpose—never on purpose). Cause when you’re in love you don’t realize how much a special person manages to disrupt the time in your day.

You won’t notice it’s happening when it does, because you’re too concerned about the other individual. They start infiltrating your life and all of the sudden—BAM… you’re going out of your way to accomplish nice gestures.

I thought of you.
I wanted to see you.
I thought you’d like this.

Etc. Etc. Etc.

You start entering selfless territory. You cater to bad days, bad weeks, sick moments and emotional needs because their overall happiness and wellness is a priority regardless of how it manages to throw a wrench into your schedule.

I want old-school extra-inefficient chivalry and love.

I want to get walked home when its the opposite direction of where you actually need to go. I want to be met at my apartment at 11:30 PM after I get home from a week-long vacation away. I want you to WFH when I’m sick and the only thing I can stomach are saltine crackers and bananas—btw you will probably have to run out and buy bananas cause I originally forgot to ask you to get them. Or you can remember that when I'm sick the only thing I like to eat are bananas and saltine crackers. I will be annoyingly talkative at times, especially when you need to get shit done. I will come home drunk and loud and try to get in your pants when you’re already fast asleep and need a good nights rest because you have to get up early the next day. I will apologize by drunkenly stripping and throwing my pants in your face, which sounds funny now but you will probably be livid at the time.

I will be inconvenient as fuck, exasperating and sometimes infuriating—but I will be worth it. Trust.

Told you.

33 Before 33: 23

23. Accept the love given to you

Personally I think I’m a huge brat. I also think I’m a narcissist who interjects herself into conversations and the spotlight when I find appropriate holes (Leo tendencies). #selfaware

I still don’t know why anyone reads this. Sometimes I don’t know why you guys like to keep me around as much as you do.

I’m not that cool, guys—I swear.

It’s not that I don’t feel worthy of your love—it’s that your love humbles me when it matters most.

Today I turned 33 years old. 

Yes, I apologize for not finishing this list on time, however I will complete it. I’ve had multiple people comment on how I was writing entries too slow, only because this series was getting a better response than I had originally expected. I had no idea it would be so well-received.

I am crying profusely typing this. Nothing bad… All good.

I’ve never had flowers delivered to me before, ever. In the span of a week I was sent 2 separate packages. I walked into work today to find my desk filled with balloons, 2 bouquets, a bottle of champagne and a card. I’ve been at this company for 3 months. 3 short months—so much love. I had difficulty keeping up with the messages, texts and phone calls all day. My family came all the way to SF to spend the evening with me.

To claim I am blessed is an understatement.

I feel so fucking loved that I can’t deal with the emotion—at all, but I’ll accept it, all of it because love is not a fluke.

33 Before 33: 26-27

26. I am either the best or THEEEEE WOOOOORST person to give anyone advice

I got caught off-guard the other day because someone specifically asked me about my marriage/divorce and I wasn’t expecting the subject to ever come up in casual conversation. I almost wanted to physically hand him a container of Morton’s Salt as I shared my experience.

Here, hold this. Have a grain or a spoonful.

It’s not that I don’t want to share my story… DUH, I write this blog. I just fear how people interpret my advice or personal journey. Not many individuals are as objective as myself. My feelings and my decision-making process are as disjointed as I can manage, however—I always trust my gut.

I think life is too short to spend it with someone you’re unhappy with. I don’t understand why anyone sticks around for the sake of convenience, codependence or safety. I can’t fathom why you would just keep wasting each other’s time when you could be happier with someone else or *gasp* even alone. I don’t believe anyone should continue a relationship just because of the pressure to naturally progress through the motions of the process due to time invested in each other.

Then again—not everyone is strong enough to leave, independent enough to survive or brave enough to face the world or repercussions solo.

IT’S TOUGH AS FUCK OUT HERE—but I wouldn’t have changed a thing. I stand by every decision I have made as difficult and painful it was at the time. Humans are resilient creatures, wounds heal and people move on—it just takes a HUGE leap of faith to walk away when the time is presented to you.

Go… Leave.. Stay… Get married… Break up… Get divorced…

Whatever makes you the happiest (eventually, because it won’t be happening overnight)—DO THAT. 

27. Trust in the blessings in disguise

Last summer I was in the process of “buying” an older home in Hayward when at the very last stages of the closing I was denied loan approval due to my “long-term contractor” employment status. Uhh, we could’ve saved everyone so much time and stress had we dealt with that fact in the first place. It was a frustrating experience to say the least.

However, it’s good that house fell through, because we came across a new build within walking distance of the Hayward Bart station in October and the purchasing process was smooth as fuck. We closed on the new house in December. Someday, when I finally have to give up living in the city I’ll probably raise my kids there—I hope.

- - -

I cried when I got laid off, it’s never happened to me before. I cried on my last day of work on my walk home, I knew I would miss the routine I was enjoying for the past year+. I was legitimately scared of not being able to take care of myself financially and of all the unknowns that go hand-in-hand with periods of unemployment.

FF to today…

I REALLY FUCKING LIKE MY NEW GIG (although low-key stressful). My co-workers are intelligent and talented. My boss gets me. We get free lunch everyday. We get random perks I didn’t know I could get. They serve charcuterie, cheese and castelvetrano olives every Friday along with wine and beer. CASTELVETRANO OLIVES THO!!! Out of all olives, they randomly serve my favorite. They’re offering me more money than I knew I could make at this stage in my career. They’re sending us all to San Diego on Monday for our company kick-off—all 200+ of us.

If getting laid-off wasn’t a blessing in disguise, I don’t know what is… 

- - -

The decision to move out of our shared apartment was the first step, next came a discussion on separation, followed by me formally asking him for a divorce. It was difficult decision after difficult decision and a whole lot of pain followed by eventual growth—for both of us.

I can’t tell you how many people I’ve met who have changed my life since divorcing him, or how many places I would’ve never seen had I stuck around or experiences I’d never had. I don’t want to dwell on what could’ve been or what should’ve been… but I’d never trade anything else for what I have now.

33 Before 33: 28-29

28. No matter how old you become, you are always your parent’s child

When I went on vacation to Kauai I did not tell my parents that I was venturing off solo. I didn’t want to deal with the backlash. It would’ve caused me so much grief for what was supposed to be some time to relax and focus on myself. I realize that sounds fucked up, they have a right to know where their (adult) child is most of the time, especially when she’s out of state by herself. But sometimes I’m selfish and I don’t want to deal with any excessive explanations or push back. I don’t want to get to the point where we argue, sure they’re my parents, however I’m a high-functioning and super independent adult. I wouldn’t do anything I can’t handle.

My mom is old school, she strongly believes in gender roles and old wives tales. I was home in Hayward on Sunday and I had to politely ask her to stop lecturing me. I’ve survived life this long—I know how to take laundry back to SF. Years ago we got into a fight because I quoted her on Facebook for telling me I would eventually go blind by simply going to bed with my hair wet. She didn’t appreciate me putting her on blast like that—even though it was a joke. We fought for 2 straight days. On Sunday she told my sister and I that we needed to put on tsinelas (slippers) because we would get varicose veins if we failed to protect our feet from the "cold" floor. I refused, looked her dead in the eye and told her I would Google the cause of varicose veins right then and there. She dropped the subject and gave me a face.

The problem is: I AM A HUGE FUCKING SMART ASS, so is my sister. The older I get the more I resist the frequent lectures on obviously false information.

I’ve realized it’s all love, it’s care—even though pure logic and medical facts are thrown out the window. I’m still perfecting the balance of biting my tongue and trying to get her realize all the shit she was taught decades ago was all fabricated. Who the hell made up all that bullshit anyway and why???

In addition, I’ve learned it doesn’t matter how old you get, they still want to be needed. It could be a ride to the airport, it might be folding 2 freshly washed loads of laundry, you could be 40—but you will always be their child.

29. Take attendance on who fucks with you—fuck with them, heavy (as long as they’re worthy)

I removed my birthday off my Facebook profile years ago. It was a test. I didn’t want 100 greetings from 100 random people. I wanted 5 phone calls from my die-hards and 20 texts from anyone who managed to remember.

Don’t do this if you’re not ready for it, people are going to forget. You can be salty if you want to—or you can be thankful for the people who managed to remember without social media reminding them.

I’ve learned that the strength of friendships are not measured by the number of years shared together, it’s the ability to relate to each other at all different stages in life. When you’re a child all you need is one common factor and you can become the best of friends. When you’re a teen you share silly things like who your crush is and your frustrations regarding your parents. As adults we don’t have time to spare, if you’re on a different wavelength than another person you're going to be more hesitant on investing time. It doesn’t take much to know you never want to hang out with a specific individual ever again.

I red flag people quickly. I’m also very fortunate to run into amazing and genuinely real people all the time. Many of my strongest relationships have formed within the past 4 years, fact.

It might suck that your high school clique has lost touch over the years or that you have difficulty connecting with people you were once close to, but often when you grow up—you grow apart, it’s the nature of the beast.

Take attendance, value those present. 

Also, shout out to the people you may not contact for months but when you get together its like you saw each other yesterday. You guys are the real MVPs.