Where's Nate?

living large in the four-oh-eight. wicked large.



I'm old. I didn't think this was supposed to happen so soon. Let me explain.

Tonight, Paige and I met up with some of my best buds from high school at our favorite watering hole in Los Gatos. We rolled in about 9:30pm to grab some beers with Jason, Todd, and Jeff. These are guys that I have known since elementary school.

We chatted about the stuff we always chat about. Time-honored stories of high school pranks, old flings, and general wackiness. The guys thoroughly bored our spouses and girlfriends with ancient legends of a simpler time.

Every time we get together we create new memories. But we only talk about old ones.

Like the time one of us booted in the chip bowl at a New Year's Eve Party. Or when another one of us put the moves on a high school sweetheart by dancing to Fields of Gold in a parking lot.

We're not even thirty yet. So at what point do new experiences become old war stories?

By 11:00pm the conversation had run it's course. And we had to head home...to get up early for a flight, to feed our baby and put her to bed, to tend to domestic duties on our newly purchased homesteads.

We left the bar when the young people were only beginning to enter it. And yet, this night of nostalgia, ironically, will become another touch point in the lore of lifelong friendships.


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