A few days ago, I was scrolling through Facebook when an update stopped me mid-click. A childhood friend, Michelle, posted "happy 13th wedding anniversary!" to her husband. She smiled radiantly on her page, her arms wrapped around her adorable preteen daughter. Although I haven't talked to Michelle in years, it's crazy to think how differently our lives have unfolded. She got married right after high school and settled down in our hometown. I, on the other hand, moved to the real-life equivalent of Never, Neverland: Williamsburg, Brooklyn. In my neighborhood, it's socially acceptable for 30-and even 40-somethings to share a tiny apartment with three other dudes and spending their evenings slamming beers and flirting with their next fling. (They're called hipsters!) As I inch further into my 30's, the whole scene gives me pause. While shouting over booming music in a crammed club is no longer my cup of tea (or should I say can of PBR?), I can't say that I'm quite ready to settle in the burbs like most of my high school pals. I'm hoping to strike a happy middle ground. (Pic is of me and my high school buddies, Shawn and Laura. Neither of them have kids, though!)
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