I have annoyingly successful friends. I’m not saying that to brag (Okay, I am – I’m so proud of all of them), I’m saying it because it’s true. They are annoyingly successful in fields where people told them they might not be able to make it.

I was in drama in high school, and hung out with some theatre kids in college, and many of those people decided to try and Make it. Go big time – Broadway, LA. A lot of people said they wouldn’t make it. They all went anyway.

It’s true – some didn’t make it, but they turned around, came home and found amazingly successful careers elsewhere. Some tried hard, and are still trying to this day. And some found crazy success in TV shows, movies, and, yeah, even Broadway.

The thing that I love about all of them is that they tried. No matter what, no matter how many people told them it might not be possible, they still went for it. They gave it their all.

(That’s not to say i’m not proud of friends who didn’t pursue crazy careers like that – I’m SO proud of everyone. Even you boring lawyers, ahem S.)

Simply, I love people who follow their passion. I love those who hear the warnings and go for it anyway. Because they want to. Because they need to.

I didn’t set out to write TNWSY with a book deal in mind. I did it because I wanted to. S can attest to the fact that i’m an annoyingly driven person at times, but that’s only because I don’t want to miss anything.

So if there’s something you’ve always wanted to do – somewhere you’ve always wanted to see – just do it. Hoist the anchors! Set sail! And just….go.

A friend of mine from college recently finished his first manuscript. I’m really excited about this because, although I’ve met many amazing people online who are in the same stage as me, it’s nice having a real-life friend there. Plus, having known him for around 11 years, I’m extremely proud and excited for him. It’s much more personal.

So as I wait for his manuscript to arrive, I’ve decided to re-read The Perks of Being a Wallflower for the 8th (or so?) time.

I just finished part one, with Charlie meeting Patrick and Sam and instantly diving into this new world of music, and light, and infinities. And it reminds me very much of my first year of college.

I moved up to Tallahassee knowing a few other people on campus, including my roommate. We were in high school drama together, and managed to room together, too. But she had a boyfriend, and spent most of her time with him. And my other friend there had his girlfriend, and was spending most of his time with her. And I was happy for them, but I was still there, in my dorm, trying to figure things out on my own.

It was one of those dorms that was a block off campus and had two wings (the north and south side) and a cafeteria in the middle. I lived on the third floor of the south side. While getting lunch, I met a girl and we instantly bonded over being new and excited and wanting to do so much. So after a few lunches together, we went to a movie at our on-campus theatre, and then she introduced me to some of her friends, people from her floor and the floor below. They were a ragtag group of people so similar to me. They were filmmakers and writers and ninjas and dreamers. And when I sat with them at lunch or dinner, they didn’t ignore me, or question why I was there – they integrated me into the conversation as if I’d always been a part of their group. As if I lived on their floor, too.

On Halloween, they took me to a party, and they day after they took me out for my birthday. And after that, I never looked back. I practically lived on their floor (three north), oftentimes crashing on one of their floors just because we all didn’t want to part when night drew near. Even though I lived just on the other side of the building. We were in our own little world that felt safe and secure and completely belonging to us. We had jokes and games. We felt part of something when seeing one another on campus. We, yes, felt infinite.

So I know how Charlie feels once he’s integrated into Patrick and Sam’s group. I know because I’ve been there, too. And one of the guys I met in my group? He’s the one sending me the manuscript.

From the outside, my friend Shannon and I are remarkably similar. We’re both short, with her just 1.5 inches taller than me. We both have long, unruly brown hair that naturally curls and waves. We both have terrible eye-sight and wear plastic, brown glasses. We were both in the circus, and were roommates, and have a strange tendency to say the same words at times. We make similar faces. We love Disney movies.

But the similarities end there because, despite being best friends, we’re polar opposites. I crave stability, knowing where I am and what I’m doing. I have a job, a husband. We’re looking into buying a house soon. We have an apartment full of stuff and while all that might sound boring, it’s also reassuring and comfortable. I love living like this, I love knowing I’m okay. Shannon, on the other hand, is a wanderer. She can fit her entire life into her car. She’s moved to different states just for fun, and in a week she’s moving out of the country. Her job is tentative, but she doesn’t care. To her, it’s an experience, a chance to travel, a chance to live.

And yet, somehow our friendship works perfectly.

I realized that the other day as we were walking down our street (she is, at this moment, my neighbor). As we talked, my mind floated above us and instead of seeing us as who we are, I saw us as characters in a book. Her the girl who follows wanderlust and me the one who stays planted. It was neat seeing us like that, imagining what craziness we’d get up to as these characters. How, in theory, we should probably drive each other crazy, but how in actuality, we’re the perfect match.

Because in a way, we bring out something in one another. For her, I show her that stability is okay. She’s admitted to wanting to settle down one day. I make sure she’s okay; remind her to keep us updated during her travels in case of, well, emergencies. I bring out the logic in her.

And me? She made me go to a state park on my one day off. Usually I reserve that day for writing or bills or errands, but she took me to the springs and for the full afternoon we laid by the water, ate snacks, and took in the day. And it was fantastic. It’s not like I’d never been to the park before, I had many a time, but lately I’d been so wrapped up in feeling old and professional that I forgot what it was like to drop everything and live.

So I did. And I didn’t think of everything I had to do at home. I wrote notes in my journal for the book I’m working on because, as it turned out, this serenity made words come easier to me. And later, when we met up with a few friends, I didn’t care that I was wearing shorts from college that had paint stains on them. I didn’t care that my nose was the color of Rudolph’s and my freckles were at full visibility (that said, I quite like my freckles). I didn’t care that the spring water made my hair into a mass of curls and tangles. I just smiled and laughed and felt pretty.

Because I was living.

I know I can’t be like that all of the time – it’s not me – but I also know that I can add her influence just a bit. I know when she’s away, she’ll make sure things are in order because I gave that to her. And I know when she’s away I’ll spend more time doing rather than thinking because the sand is still on my sandals and I have no desire to wipe it off.