2010, Two Friends, And A Habit To Form.

It’s 2010. I’m supposed to graduate my last year at high school, but I had decided to drop out of traditional high school and go online with my senior year. A decision with regret, but not in the traditional way you’d regret something, with thoughts of “how could I do that?” or “What happened?” But with thoughts of, “I wish I finished what I started.” They aren’t much happier, but there is something to be said about finishing something you start, and even more about knowing yourself to be a finisher.

Prior to dropping out, I had made a new friend, Jacob. He had some amazing qualities. This guy could listen well. When you told a story or something about your life, he just listened intently and would be so enthralled and in love with your world when you told a story. You really felt like the center of the world when he was around; he lit the room up. He was patient with everyone, even when any rational person would be angry, he’d be playful and take everything in stride, and that, to me, was a rare trait and something to be admired. We spent hours and hours together, almost ten years of being best friends, and it all started with two eager, young, ignorant but good kids in science class but ended with bumps of heroin off our phones.

Wait, what? What happened?

The story begins with us heading over to Jacob's cousin's house. We didn't really understand what we were asking, but we knew we were a little nervous and a little excited.

We step into her room and ask, "Bailey, can you get us high?" We asked like two kids wanting cookies for breakfast, but she said yes and packed us a one-hitter of some weed she had on hand. I curiously looked at the device that resembled a metal cigarette and held the lighter in my hand, holding it up to my mouth, not knowing exactly what to do with "smoking" something. I flicked the lighter and held it to the end of my mouth while I took a breath with a cross-eyed puzzling look.

After, I took a step back, looking at the device oddly in my hand, laughing sheepishly with the group. We leave after Jacob has his packed and smoked. We decide to head to Barnes & Noble. I know, a little odd, but we seemed content walking about Barnes & Noble, asking ourselves, "Are we high right now?" Honestly, we were closer to two kids who were as sober as a couple choir girls, asking each other over and over if we were high, than actually being stoned. That was the first experience, and I can't say it was all the polarizing negative stories that you watch on TV or hear about in the news, and I think that's the hook.

Whenever you start on a path that's destructive, it never feels that way in the beginning. The start of that journey is always lined with butterflies, smiles, laughs with friends, and new experiences. But somehow the farther you walk down that path, you start to run into a rock, then the path takes a turn towards gravel. Whoops, now you’ve slipped and fell. Your heart gets broken, you've got a backpack that says "baggage," and it's not too heavy at first, but after a while, you're tired of walking and carrying it. It's getting heavy with regrets, mistakes, losses, and all the other things you hadn't thought about before you started this journey.

Often I'll tell people who come across me that I wish when someone offered me my first drink or smoke, they’d said something like this: "At first, it’s gonna be a lot of fun. You're gonna have huge laughs, some wild stories, and some moments you’ll cherish, but after a while, you’ll find yourself a part of things you never asked for. You’ll have moments where you’ve never felt lonelier in your entire life, and the fun that was so consuming in the beginning will be replaced with complete loss and failure."

Idealistic? Sure, I think it may be a little idealistic, but this goes back to when we make a choice on what it will give us in the next hour, day, or week, instead of how it will benefit our months, years, and decades. When we find things that polish our short term but cost us our futures, they are often rarely worth the time, effort, and money that it cost us.

So now I’m happy to be the big brother you never had. We’ve all held onto things because they're comfortable, new, exciting, and in the short term, they bring us something, but they are costing you months, years, and decades of hurt, poor progression, and limitations.

You’re worth more than your now; let it go.