Growing up here in summer was my yearly saving grace.
And like most kids I took it for granted. The late pink-dusted nights playing on the beach, 9pm mac-n-cheese dinner calls from Mom, built-in friends from the block, vogue worthy photoshoots of the golden hour, 11pm curfews, sneaking out, wizard sticks championships, working “full time” at a surf shop, make-outs in the lifeguard stands, a cool breeze at sunset, bitchiness of the damn rusted bike my mom refuses to part with and somehow I always end up riding, splinters from the 24th street boards and the daily repeat of what I considered my endless summer, every summer.
I’m now, 23.5 years around the sun, sitting (more than) 9 to five at a white standing desk finally learning what my dad meant when he said “don’t grow up”. it’s not all bad here, its just not all daisies. It brings a lot to mind, and I could go on for hours, but really the only thing I can think of at this current moment is how I’d probably feed my left arm to a shark to be sleeping in the boat bed right now.