
(Left) My high school mascot. Irvington High School Vikings. (Center) A b-boy signifying my time with my dance group. (Right) The logo of Below The Surface. The streetwear brand that I built with my “brothers.”
Friendship.
It’s one of those words we toss around with ease—slapped onto group chats, captions, and memories that get buried under the latest streaming drama. But if you pause, just long enough, you start to see how it’s more than a label. It’s a mirror. A lifeline. A soundtrack.
And if you’re lucky, it’s a story worth telling.
Mine is layered. Some chapters are loud, some are quiet. Some friendships burned fast and bright, others have taken root so deep they’ve become part of who I am. All of them—every awkward introduction, every inside joke, every late-night conversation—have shaped me.
But let’s be honest. Not everyone’s story looks like mine. Some people are still best friends with the kid they met on the monkey bars in second grade. That’s beautiful. But that’s not my path. My circle shifted with the seasons. Some people grew with me, some grew in other directions. And while I used to question that, I’ve learned to appreciate it. Not every friendship is built to last—but every one of them builds something in you.
So here it is. My friendship timeline, told in three acts.
Act I: Awkward Hallways and Quiet Hustle
Let’s start where we all started: adolescence. Middle school. High school. The land of side parts, starter jackets, baggy jeans, and trying not to look too eager.
I was the smart kid. Graduated with honors. Pulled a plus 4-point-something GPA before the phrase “weighted class” was a household term. Played sports, stayed out of trouble, and did everything you’re told will set you up for success. But if I’m honest, I was always a few degrees outside the “in” group.
Not an outcast—just adjacent. Friendly with everyone, but never quite at the center. The guy who helped you pass your math test and then disappeared into the background when the party invites were handed out.
And yeah, it left a mark. It gave me a bit of a chip on my shoulder. Not the loud kind. Just that quiet edge. The feeling that I had more to prove than what a GPA could measure. That edge sharpened my focus, determination, and frankly the drive to show others they misjudged me. It made me observe more, absorb more, and wait patiently for the moment I could write my own narrative.
Back then, friendships were formed out of proximity and survival. Class projects. Lunch tables. Shared dread over group presentations. These bonds were real, but fragile. Situational. As soon as the setting changed, so did the connection.
Still, those early friendships taught me something foundational: how to show up for people. How to listen. How to be someone others could trust—even if they never said it out loud.
Act II: Center Stage and Catching Up
At 17, everything shifted. I left home, supporting myself with a mix of work, hustle, and whatever confidence I could fake in the moment. Then came the crew.
We built a hip-hop dance group from nothing—just raw talent, shared ambition, and the kind of delusion that only comes with being young and sure you’re invincible. And somehow, it worked. We performed. We traveled. We got recognized. Not “TMZ-paparazzi” recognized, but enough that it felt like we mattered. VHS tapes of our performances were being copied and distributed nationwide, my generation’s version of “going viral.”
This was my extrovert era. The years of bright lights and louder outfits. It felt like I was making up for lost time—reclaiming the cool I never had in high school and validating my lost invitations to the cool kids club. I came alive in those years. I found rhythm. I found confidence. I found myself.
And then I found her—the love of my life.
We weren’t following any grand plan, but life doesn’t really ask for permission. We started a family. Three boys. A whole squad. And now, years later, we live in a house where testosterone levels rival a UFC locker room—but I wouldn’t trade it for anything. The way we engage with them now—as young men, not just kids—adds a depth I never expected. We laugh, we argue, we challenge each other. It’s chaotic and incredible. In a time where our friends are trying to outdo each other for likes by throwing the trendiest 5 year old birthday party or kindergarten graduation, our boys are preparing for the real world and having real world conversations. There’s an excitement to see how our sons will make their mark and write their own stories.
She wasn’t just a chapter in that season—she became the entire book. My soulmate in every sense of the word. Strong, supportive, intuitive. She held space for me to grow and still called me on my BS. She helped me become a man worth following, not just a guy trying to impress. Together, we built something far more powerful than applause: a life.
As for the dance crew? We’re still connected. We talk. We remember. We show up for the milestones—birthdays, weddings, the occasional group text that spirals into nonsense. The bond is still there, wrapped in nostalgia. It’s not daily, but it’s permanent. Like family you don’t call enough, but love without question.
That chapter? It was magic. And it gave me a lifetime of stories I’ll never stop telling.
Act III: The Brotherhood
And then… there are them. My five. My inner circle. My brothers—not by blood, but by everything else that counts.
They came into my life through Below The Surface, a brand we built together from scratch. And when that chapter ended, the friendship didn’t. It deepened.
We’re not clones of each other. We span over a decade in age, and we’ve all taken wildly different paths—professionally, personally, geographically. But that’s what makes it work. We’re a full spectrum. Each of us brings something distinct to the table.
We advise each other. We hype each other. We call each other out when it’s needed. We rotate between acting like mentors and immature teenagers—usually in the same group chat.
We plan trips. We make space for each other’s success. We’re there when it counts. When life gets heavy. When someone needs a laugh. When someone needs a plane ticket and a couch.
My kids call them “Uncle.” And it’s not honorary. It’s earned. These are the men I’d trust with anything. The ones who’ve seen every version of me and stayed. No performance. No ego. Just love, challenge, loyalty, and a shared belief that being present beats being perfect.
One of those five is my actual brother. And having him in that mix? It’s a blessing on top of a blessing. He’s been with me from day one—literally. He knows the early versions of me better than anyone, and still chooses to walk beside the man I’ve become. To build a friendship on top of family—it’s rare. It’s powerful. And I never take it for granted.
And man… what a gift that is.
What It All Means
Looking back, the evolution is clear.
In adolescence, I learned to show up. In my 20s, I learned to shine. And now, I’ve learned to stay—to invest in friendships that are built to last, not just built to impress.
Each stage has its own beauty, its own heartbreak, its own rhythm. But they all led me here—to a place of gratitude, clarity, and a better understanding of what friendship can actually mean.
So if you’re reading this and you were part of any of those chapters—thank you.
To the friends I made in classrooms and locker-lined hallways: you taught me how to be reliable, how to laugh at myself, and how to find calm in chaos.
To my dance crew: you gave me space to be loud, expressive, confident. You helped me become who I wanted to be. You gave me my stage—and through that, my soulmate and my family.
And to my brothers: you already know. I love you. I admire you. I would drop everything to be at your side if you needed me. You are the compass I never knew I needed and the mirror that keeps me honest. You challenge me, ground me, and remind me not to take life—or myself—too seriously.
In a world where people change phones more often than they keep promises, you are the constants. And that means everything.
Let’s talk.
What does friendship look like for you right now? Who’s still in your circle—and who shaped you along the way? Drop a comment. Tag your people. Give them their flowers. While you still can.
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