Eighteen was an important age for me. I graduated high school. Quit my job shoving carts, and moved out of my dad’s house. I was an inflated know-it-all with all the answers, which I happily shoved down people’s throats–in the name of Christ. I was on a mission, a holy calling that took me to Las Vegas where I found out everyone is full of themselves, and full of shit. To Burma and Thailand where the towering statues of Buddha can make anyone feel small, and the joy of those who have so little smaller. I was spat out in South Bend, Indiana, where I spent the coldest winter of my life with no heat, and a couch for a bed. From there I flew to Washington, and got married. We flew to Texas to work in a small shitty mall during a summer that would have made the devil happy to be in Hell. My wife and I escaped to Portland, Oregon–once again by the call of God. After a failed nonprofit, clothing store, web development team, and sex toy store I wound up right back at grocery, where I’ve worked thus far. Ten years of life and I’m deflated nobody without any answers. And that decade went by about as fast as it took to read this paragraph.