Jerome's Gibberish

Friday, May 1, 2026

Hot Takes I Fully Stand Behind!

Folks.

There are some opinions you keep to yourself.

And then there are the ones where you already know people are going to disagree… and you say them anyway.

This is that second category.

Here are some “hot takes” that I absolutely stand behind!

1. Strawberry Jelly is better than Grape Jelly.

I don’t understand how grape jelly became the default.

It doesn’t even taste like grapes. It tastes like the idea of grapes that someone made up in a lab. It’s just sweet and purple, and somehow that was enough for everyone to agree, “Yeah, that’s the one.”

Strawberry jelly actually tastes like something. There’s texture, there’s flavor, there’s a little bit of unpredictability depending on the brand. It feels real.

Grape jelly feels like a placeholder that nobody ever questioned.

This is also coming from someone whose favorite fruit is, you guessed it, grapes.

However, when I’m making a peanut butter & jelly sandwich, it’s strawberry jelly every single time.

Also—peanut butter goes on both slices of bread. That’s how you stop getting the soggy jelly slice from the paper bag you took for lunch on your 2nd-grade field trip.

The peanut butter barrier is not only elite—it’s essential.

2. Pepsi is better than Coke.

Coke has this reputation like it’s the gold standard, but every time I drink it, it feels like it’s trying too hard.

It’s sharp. It’s aggressive. It’s like the carbonation is in a competition with your throat.

Pepsi just tastes smoother. It’s easier to drink, it’s more balanced, and honestly, it’s more enjoyable. The only reason Coke wins in most places is because it’s been around longer and people are used to it.

One of my friends said it best: “Pepsi is sweeter, Coke is spicier.”

I want the sweet. I like the sweet.

It’s not overwhelming—it’s “just right.”

Now don’t get me wrong—if I go to a restaurant and they don’t carry Pepsi products, and the server says, “Is Coke OK?”…

Yes. It’s absolutely OK.

I still love Coke. But respectfully, Pepsi is better.

So when I’m given the choice between both, my loyalty lies with Pepsi.

If Pepsi had the same branding dominance, this wouldn’t even be a debate.

3. Hot pizza is objectively better than cold pizza.

This one shouldn’t even be controversial.

If you have pizza sitting in front of you and the option to heat it up, and you choose not to, that’s not a preference—that’s a decision you made.

Cold pizza has its place. Late at night, no effort, just grab a slice and move on with your life—fine.

But if it’s a normal time of day and you’re just eating it cold out of convenience, you’re willingly having a worse experience.

You’re one minute away from making it better, and you chose not to.

Cold pizza is not “just as good” as hot pizza either.

It’s still really good—it’s still pizza after all—but it’s not “just as good.”

Apply heat to the slice. It only takes a few minutes.

4. Boneless Wings are just Chicken Nuggets with confidence.

I don’t know when we decided to rebrand chicken nuggets and pretend they’re something else, but that’s exactly what happened.

You didn’t order wings. You ordered nuggets.

And that’s fine. Just stand on it.

There’s nothing wrong with nuggets, but let’s not act like calling them “boneless wings” suddenly elevates the situation. It’s the same thing with a better marketing team.

If anything, you got upcharged.

Same product, new name.

5. Nachos are a broken system.

Nachos sound great in theory.

A big plate, melted cheese, toppings everywhere—it looks perfect.

But the reality is, it’s completely uneven. The top layer gets everything—cheese, toppings, flavor. The bottom layer gets… crumbs and regret.

You’re basically eating in phases. First half is amazing. Second half is you trying to convince yourself it’s still good.

That’s not a good system.

You need even layers for proper nachos.

Everything needs to mix properly.

There’s a certain balance that needs to be maintained.

Also, once the nachos become soggy, they instantly become 50% less appealing.

Crunchy chips are the backbone of all nachos.

6. Water absolutely has different tastes.

People who say all water tastes the same either haven’t paid attention or have just accepted defeat.

You can tell immediately. Some water is crisp, clean, refreshing. Other water tastes like it came out of a hose behind a building.

It’s not even subtle. The difference is obvious.

Pretending it all tastes the same is one of those things people say just because they think they’re supposed to.

You might want to get your taste buds checked if you think all water tastes the same.

7. Milk should never be your default drink.

Milk has a role.

It has a purpose. It has a time and a place.

And that time is with cookies, cake, brownies—desserts. That’s where milk shines. That’s where it belongs.

Milk is not meant to just be casually consumed on its own like water. It’s not something you grab with dinner. It’s definitely not something you pair with a savory meal.

A glass of milk next to pasta or a burger? I don’t understand it. I don’t want to understand it.

Milk is a supporting character, not the main event.

The moment you start treating it like a default drink, something has gone off the rails.

Milk is dessert-adjacent. The second you forget that, you’ve lost the plot.

If you want it with breakfast, that’s allowed—especially if you’re having pancakes, waffles, or French toast.

You might be asking, “What about chocolate milk?” Let me shut that down right now.

If you’re from my generation, chocolate milk was shoved down our throats with our school lunches.

I don’t know why either, but it was always wrong.

8. The second half of a shower is just standing there thinking.

At a certain point, you’re done.

You’ve washed everything. There’s nothing left to do.

But you stay in there anyway.

And that’s when your brain decides it’s time to revisit every awkward moment you’ve ever had, analyze random thoughts, or just exist in silence for a few minutes.

The shower starts as hygiene and ends as reflection.

You just zone out with the water still going.

Shower thoughts are elite.

9. Cloth napkins at restaurants are pointless.

I don’t need a giant reusable handkerchief sitting on my lap.

What am I supposed to do with that? Carefully dab my face once and then just live with it for the rest of the meal?

Give me disposable napkins. Multiple. Let me actually use them without thinking about it.

And while we’re at it, give me a discreet place to throw them away under the table so they’re not piling up next to my plate like evidence.

Cloth napkins are trying to be classy, but all they really do is limit what you can actually do.

I want functionality, not formality.

Plus, I’m not worried about getting food on my lap—it turns out I know how to properly use utensils.

However, I have been known to get sauce on my face and hands, and I’d love to have an actual napkin to wipe it off. Imagine that.

10. People who stop walking suddenly in public are the problem.

There’s an unspoken rule when you’re in public spaces: keep moving or move out of the way.

If you just stop in the middle of a walkway with no warning, you’ve created a problem for everyone behind you.

You might not notice it, but it immediately throws everything off.

It’s a small thing, but it says a lot about awareness.

In fact, it says everything about awareness.

Move to the side. Stay there as long as you need.

Now you’re out of the way.

Simple concept on paper.

Extremely hard concept in practice for some people.

Still not sure where the disconnect is coming from, but it fascinates me.

11. Pickles are absolutely disgusting.

There are no redeeming qualities here.

None.

They ruin everything they touch. A perfectly good burger? Compromised. A sandwich? Now it tastes like a jar.

And it doesn’t matter what type you try to sell me on—bread & butter, half sour, dill, sweet… those are just different names for the same thing.

A briny piece of trash.

They don’t belong on food. They don’t improve anything. They don’t need to exist.

And I’m not interested in hearing about “you just haven’t had the right kind.”

No. I’ve had enough.

This is the hill I will absolutely die on.

Pickles must have something on all of you who’ve fallen under their spell.

There can be no other explanation.

And now they refuse to stay in their own lane.

Pickle ice cream, pickle potato chips, pickle cotton candy… where does it end?

12. Commercials used to actually be entertaining.

There was a time when commercials weren’t just interruptions—they were part of the experience.

They had jingles. They had characters. They had little storylines that stuck in your head whether you wanted them to or not.

You’d hear something once and remember it for years.

I still remember phone numbers for companies I’ve never used, just because they had a catchy jingle.

I have fond memories of commercials because they were creative, witty, and funny.

Now?

Commercials just… exist.

They show up, say the product name a few times, maybe try to be “relatable,” and then disappear immediately. Nothing sticks. Nothing stands out.

It feels like they stopped trying to be memorable and just started trying to be present.

And honestly, that might be worse.

Because at least before, even if you didn’t like the commercial, you remembered it.

Now you don’t even notice it.

At some point, commercials stopped being something you remember… and started being something you wait to skip.

My Final Thought

Not every opinion needs to be serious.

But sometimes the ones that aren’t serious still say something real.

Like pickles being disgusting—that’s as real as it gets.

Thanks for reading, folks. I’ll see you next week!

Friday, April 24, 2026

When I Was A Kid

When I was a kid, a normal-sized bag of Doritos was $2.10.

That wasn’t a “deal”—that was just the price. You’d walk into a convenience store with a couple bucks and walk out with snacks and still have change in your pocket. It felt normal, maybe even a little expensive if it was your own money. Today, that same bag costs more than double in a lot of places, and most of us barely react to it.

The number changed, sure—but what really changed is what we’re willing to accept without thinking about it. Inflation didn’t just raise prices. It quietly reset our expectations of what things are supposed to cost.

When I was a kid, if you called someone and they didn’t pick up, that was it.

No texting. No checking in. No “did you see my message?” You just had to wait. Maybe they were home, maybe they weren’t. Maybe you’d try again later, maybe you wouldn’t.

Plans carried weight because there was no backup system. If you said you’d meet somewhere, you showed up—or you missed out. There was no last-minute update, no real-time adjustment. That made showing up matter more.

Now we’re always connected. You can reach anyone, anytime.

And somehow, because of that, everything feels a little more optional.

When I was a kid, the internet wasn’t part of everyday life.

If you had it at all, it was dial-up. Loud, slow, and shared. You’d hear that connection sound like you were opening a portal, and once you were online, nobody else could use the phone. You didn’t go on the internet just to scroll—you had a reason. You checked something, maybe played a game, and then you got off.

There was a clear beginning and end to it.

Now the internet isn’t something we “go on.”

It’s something we never really leave.

We gained instant access to information, entertainment, and communication. But in the process, we lost the natural boundary that used to separate “being online” from just… living.

When I was a kid, getting lost meant you were actually lost.

No GPS. No voice telling you to turn in 500 feet. You either had directions written down, or you were figuring it out in real time. You paid attention to street names, landmarks, turns—because you had to.

And if you messed up, you didn’t reroute instantly. You pulled over. You asked someone. You retraced your steps.

You walked into the shady gas station, waiting to hear about some random landmarks that were supposed to let you know if you're on the right track.

"If you pass the giant bee's nest, then you've gone too far."

Today, you can get anywhere without thinking twice.

But because of that, we don’t always learn where we are. We follow directions instead of understanding them.

Convenience replaced awareness.

Believe it or not, physical maps still exist.

When I was a kid, boredom was part of the deal.

If nothing was on TV, nothing was on TV. There wasn’t a backup option waiting in your pocket. You either found something to do, or you sat there and dealt with it.

And in that space, something important happened.

You created things. You used your imagination. You made up games, built something out of nothing, or just let your mind wander. It wasn’t always exciting—but it was yours.

I used to build forts, and I'd pretend they were some grand structure that had multiple rooms.

In reality, it was bed sheet that was thrown over a couch a a couple of chairs.

But as a kid, it still felt like something huge, because I made it.

Now boredom lasts about 10 seconds before we reach for a screen.

We solved boredom almost completely.

And in doing that, we lost a lot of the space where creativity used to grow naturally.

The boredom has shifted, first we didn't have any options, now we have too many.

Having too many options can be just as bad as not having any. It's all about balance.

When I was a kid, we had a “Fireman’s Carnival” in my town every year.

On the surface, it was just a local fair. Probably smaller than I remember it being. But as a kid, it felt massive. It always started with a parade—sirens, trucks, candy flying through the air—and then rolled into the carnival itself.

Rides, fried food, games you were almost guaranteed to lose.

But that wasn’t what made it special.

It was the feeling.

You’d go with your friends, running around with just enough freedom to feel like you were getting away with something. No constant check-ins, no tracking, just a loose plan to meet back up later.

For a few hours, that place wasn’t just a fair.

It was everything.

Now there are bigger events, better attractions, more polished experiences.

But they don’t always feel bigger.

When I was a kid, we played outside.

Not occasionally—constantly. Bikes all over the neighborhood, no real destination, no structured plan. You’d fall, scrape your knee, get up, and keep going. You drank from the hose like it was completely normal—because it was.

And when the streetlights came on, that was the signal.

Time to go home.

No reminders, no texts—just a shared understanding that somehow everyone followed.

It was freedom, but it came with an unspoken structure that didn’t need to be explained.

There was a level of disconnect back then that I don't believe truly exists anymore.

Now things are safer, more organized, more supervised.

But there’s less of that unstructured time where you figure things out on your own without realizing it.

When I was a kid, renting a movie or video game from Blockbuster felt like hitting the lottery.

You walked in hoping they had what you wanted—and sometimes they didn’t. That was part of it. Limited copies, no guarantees.

But when they did have it?

That case in your hand felt like gold.

And it wasn’t forever.

You had a couple days. That meant you watched the movie that night. You played the game as much as you could. There was urgency, intention. You got everything you could out of it because you knew it was temporary.

Now we have endless libraries, instant access, and no deadlines.

And somehow, we spend more time deciding what to watch than actually watching it.

The new boredom.

When I was a kid, you didn’t make long distance calls without permission.

Calls were charged by the minute. If someone said “I’m on a long distance call,” you respected that immediately. You kept conversations short, to the point.

Talking had a cost.

And because of that, it had weight.

Now we can talk to anyone, anywhere, for free.

And conversations feel easier to start—but also easier to abandon.

Being "left on read" is almost always a guarantee these days.

When I was a kid, going out to eat was a big deal.

It wasn’t expected. It wasn’t routine. It just happened sometimes, and when it did, it felt special.

You got ready. You went out. You sat down and ordered like it meant something.

Sunday brunch at Abdow's wasn’t just about the food—it was the experience, the consistency, the memory of it.

Now eating out is common. Convenient. Sometimes even easier than cooking.

But because of that, it doesn’t always feel like anything.

I still make it a point to remember what it was like going out to eat as a kid.

When I was a kid, going to the movies was an experience.

The big screen, the dark room, the popcorn—it all felt larger than life. For two hours, you were somewhere else completely. No distractions, no second screens, no pausing.

Just the movie.

Now we have bigger TVs, better sound systems, and instant access at home.

But it doesn’t feel the same.

Because it was never just about the movie—it was about the escape.

For two hours, you were fully immersed in another world.

Popcorn in one hand, soda in the other, and the boxes of candy in your pocket that you bought from the dollar store before you walked in.

Let's face it, the "no outside food" sign for a move theater is the "beware of dog" sign for someone who has a lap dog.

When I was a kid, sleepovers were one of the best things ever.

Not just because you got to stay up later—though that was definitely part of it—but because it was guaranteed time. You didn’t have to wonder if you were hanging out the next day. You already were.

And that mattered more than you realized.

Because your friends were busy.

Practices after school. Homework. Family plans they didn’t even know about yet. Weekend commitments like Boy Scouts or other activities. Their schedules weren’t really theirs—they were being pulled in every direction.

So you had to pick your spots.

If you waited too long to ask, someone else might’ve already locked it in. And then you were waiting even longer.

“Sorry, I’m busy this week” wasn’t an excuse.

It was reality.

So when a sleepover finally happened, you appreciated it.

Because it wasn’t guaranteed.

On the flip side, there are some absolute horror stories about sleepover experiences that other people have had.

Things that I wouldn't wish upon anyone.

I wish everyone had only experienced sleepovers the way that they were meant to be.

What Changed—and What It Means

None of this was perfect.

Things were slower. Less convenient. More limited.

But those limitations created something we don’t always have now:

Meaning.

Scarcity made things feel special.
Effort made things feel earned.
Waiting made things feel worth it.

Now everything is at our fingertips.

You can get almost anything you want delivered right to your door just by pressing a few buttons.

You can get unlimited information on basically anything just by typing a question into a search engine.

You can get everything right away.

The scarcity, effort, and waiting are all gone.

Sometimes that's a good thing, other times, not so much.

The Trade-Off

We gained access.
We gained speed.
We gained convenience.

But we gave up a little bit of anticipation.
A little bit of appreciation.
A little bit of presence.

The Point

This isn’t about saying things were better.

They weren’t. Just different.

But if you grew up in the 90s, you experienced both sides of that shift.

You know what it felt like before everything was instant.

And that means you still have the ability to recognize what made those moments matter—and maybe, every once in a while, choose to bring a little bit of that back.

Because while we can’t go back to when we were kids…

We don’t have to leave everything from that time behind.

Thanks for reading folks, until next week!

Thursday, April 16, 2026

The Weird Pressure To Always Be Doing Something

I don’t know when it happened, but somewhere along the way, doing nothing started to feel… wrong.

Like if you’re not being productive, not working toward something, not improving something—

you’re wasting time.

Even when you’re not.

Doing Nothing Feels Like You’re Doing Something Wrong

You ever finally sit down after a long day, ready to relax…

and within five minutes, your brain goes:

“Alright, what should we be doing right now?”

Not what do you want to do.

What should you be doing.

And now suddenly, relaxing feels temporary.

Like you’re just killing time before you get back to something “important.”

It’s a constant state of flux.

You’re always in standby mode, ready to “jiggle the mouse,” because the screensaver calling you out for relaxing somehow feels like failure.

The Mental Checklist Kicks In

For me, it’s not even always guilt.

It’s more like a check-in.

I’ll be sitting there, doing absolutely nothing, perfectly fine with it…

and then I’ll stop and think:

“Alright… is there something else I’m supposed to be doing right now?”

And now I’m running through the list:

Laundry.
Clean up the place a bit.
Grocery shopping.
Get gas.

(Which, by the way, I was supposed to do after the gym… and completely forgot until just now.)

So even when I’m relaxed… I’m not fully relaxed.

There’s always that quick mental audit happening in the background.

Where That Comes From

For me, a lot of that definitely comes from work culture.

There’s always something to do. Something to stay on top of. Something you could be doing better or more efficiently.

And that mindset doesn’t just stay at work.

It follows you home.

It turns into this constant feeling that you should always be doing something.

The Office Space Problem

And honestly, part of it feels like we’re all living in some version of Office Space.

You’ve got the whole Peter Gibbons mindset of:

“I wouldn’t say I’ve been missing it, Bob.”

And then there’s the whole motivation conversation, where it basically comes down to:

Why would anyone be motivated to work harder… when working harder just means more work?

And don’t even get me started on the “multiple bosses” thing.

Because that part is way too real.

It feels like no matter what job you’re in, there are always like eight different people who can pop up at any moment.

And if you so much as pause for a second—just exist for a moment—you can almost hear it:

“THERE’S ALWAYS WORK TO BE DONE.”

Relax.

I promise the world isn’t going to stop spinning if I take a breath.

Some of these people act like catching you standing still for five seconds is their life’s purpose.

And I get it.

This might be the only “power and influence” some people feel like they have.

I hate to break it to you…

it’s not real.

We’re here to do a job, get paid, and then go live the life we actually want to live.

I don’t take work home with me.

And I’m definitely not going to pretend to be busy just to make someone else feel important.

The Influencer Effect

And if work culture wasn’t enough…

now you’ve got the internet adding fuel to the fire.

You’ve seen these videos.

Some “guru” standing in front of a car that costs more than most people’s houses…

talking about mindset.

Meanwhile, that car still drives on the same roads, uses the same gas, sits in the same traffic…

as a Toyota Corolla that costs a fraction of the price, lasts longer, and gets you to the exact same destination.

But yeah—definitely worry about what some random person is going to think during the five seconds they see your car at a red light.

That’s what matters.

And then comes the routine.

“You want to be successful? You need to wake up at 3:27 AM.”

Okay.

“Then go run a 10K.”

Sure.

“Then invest in five duplexes.”

Of course—because we all just have that kind of money lying around.

And somehow, this all turns into the idea that even sleep—

something you will spend about a third of your life doing, and literally need to function—

is a waste of time.

Because you should be grinding.

Every second.

Of every day.

At some point, it just becomes exhausting to even listen to.

Did I also mention that the “guru” always has some “discounted course” to show you how to get rich like them for a cool $5,000?

But don’t worry—that’s the discounted rate.

They just need enough people to fall for it… oops, I mean, “take that leap.”

The Extreme Version of It

And then there’s the other side of it.

The people who take that mindset and run it straight into the ground.

I’m talking about the workaholics.

The ones who have over 240 hours of “use or lose” time off…

and just don’t use it.

On purpose.

They don’t even get paid out for it.

They just… don’t take it.

That’s literally free time. Free money. Free life…

and they give it away.

I’m sure their employers love it.

Especially when most of those jobs are “at will” anyway.

(Which is exactly why I already went on a whole rant about “Take The Vacation,” but that’s a different conversation.)

“Oh, I don’t have anything to do on vacation.”

That’s. The. Whole. Point.

In fact, your mindset should be:

“I don’t have TO DO anything on vacation.”

One of my best friends had the perfect response to that:

“What do you do on the days you’re not working? Just do that on vacation—and get paid for it.”

The Irony of It All

The more you try to stay on top of everything…

the more it feels like you’re never actually caught up.

You’re always doing something, thinking about something, planning something—

and somehow, it never feels like enough.

At some point, you even start planning your time to relax.

Blocking it out. Scheduling it. Trying to “fit it in.”

And that’s when it really hits:

If you have to plan your time to relax…

then you’re probably already working too hard.

Relaxing isn’t supposed to feel like another task on your list.

How relaxed could you possibly be if you always have a set time when you’re not allowed to be relaxed anymore?

What Actually Helps

And this is where it gets interesting.

Because the only thing that really seems to help…

is the exact opposite of all of that.

The simple stuff.

Quiet moments. No expectations. No pressure.

The kind of things that don’t have a purpose.

Just existing for a little bit.

Take a deep breath.

Close your eyes for a bit.

Relax.

No one on their deathbed ever says, “I wish I would have worked more.”

It’s always the opposite.

As it should be.

Bringing It Back

That’s why those small reset moments matter so much.

The quiet store.
The late-night calm.
The moments where nothing is required of you.

No productivity. No expectations.

Just space.

Closing Thought

Maybe the problem isn’t that we’re not doing enough…

maybe it’s that we’ve forgotten how to just be still.

And maybe…

doing nothing isn’t wasting time.

Maybe it’s exactly what we need.

Maybe the one thing we need to “work” on the most…

is how to do no work at all.

As always, thanks for taking the time to read this, folks.

Until next time!

Thursday, April 9, 2026

Fitting In Isn't Worth Losing Yourself

Fitting In Isn’t Worth Losing Yourself

When you’re younger, fitting in feels like everything.

Not in some dramatic, life-or-death way—it’s quieter than that. It’s just kind of understood. You want to be accepted, you want to be part of something, you don’t want to be the odd one out. At that age, standing out doesn’t feel brave—it feels risky.

So you adjust.

You start picking up on what’s “normal” for whatever group you’re around. How they talk, what they laugh at, what they’re into. And without even realizing it, you start making small changes. Nothing major at first—just enough to blend in.

In your formative years, not being alone feels like the only thing that matters.

And that’s where it starts.

The Sneaky Side of Peer Pressure

People think peer pressure is always obvious.

Like someone in your face saying, “Come on, just do it.”

Honestly? It’s usually not like that.

It’s quieter. It’s being in an environment where something is happening, and the unspoken expectation is that you’ll go along with it. Nobody has to say a word—you just feel it.

Sometimes it’s even smaller than that.

It’s laughing at something you don’t actually find funny.
Agreeing with something you don’t fully believe in just to avoid friction.
Staying quiet when you know you see things differently.

None of that feels like a big deal in the moment.

But stack enough of those moments together, and you start to realize—you’ve been slowly editing yourself just to make things easier for other people.

You don’t want to “step on anyone’s toes.”

Because it’s just easier to go along with it… right?

Always trust your gut.

Always.

Seeing “The Other Side”

For me, I never really gave into that kind of pressure.

But I did get a glimpse of it once.

I found myself around what I would’ve considered “the in crowd” at the time—the kind of group that, when you’re younger, you think has it all figured out. And I saw what they were doing—drinking, most likely drugs, just that whole scene.

And I’ve never wanted to get out of a situation faster in my life.

Not because anyone was pressuring me. Nobody was pushing anything on me. That’s the part people get wrong sometimes—it wasn’t aggressive at all.

It just wasn’t me.

I don’t drink.
I don’t smoke.
I don’t do drugs.

And more importantly—I don’t want to be around that.

That moment didn’t tempt me.

It clarified something.

If this is what it’s truly like on “the other side,” then I’m all set.

I’ve seen enough—and I’m not interested.

The Internal Decision

What people see is you leaving a situation.

What they don’t see is everything going on in your head before that.

For me, there wasn’t panic. There wasn’t even hesitation.

It was just a very clear, very direct thought process:

“This isn’t me.”
“I don’t belong here.”
“I don’t even want to pretend to belong here.”

There was no internal debate. No “maybe I’ll just stay for a bit.”

It was just… no.

And I think that’s what happens when you really know yourself—decisions like that don’t feel hard, they feel obvious.

It doesn’t take me long to read a room—and it takes even less time to know whether I’m staying or going.

For me, if it doesn’t contribute to my peace, it doesn’t get to be a part of my life.

It’s really that simple.

The Illusion of the “In Crowd”

There’s this idea when you’re younger that certain people have it figured out.

The “in crowd.” The ones who seem confident, social, always in the mix.

You look at that from the outside and think,
“Yeah… that’s where I want to be.”

And then sometimes you actually see it up close.

And it’s not what you thought.

Not better. Not impressive. Not something to aspire to.

Just… different.

That moment was a reality check for me.

What I thought was something to chase ended up being something I wanted no part of.

People act differently depending on what group they’re with.

Sometimes for the better—and other times… not so much.

Herd mentality is real, and depending on who you surround yourself with, it’s either a blessing or a curse.

Whether you like it or not, the company you keep says a lot about you.

When Fitting In Starts Costing You

Here’s the part people don’t talk about enough.

Fitting in isn’t always about doing something extreme. Sometimes it’s just tolerating things you don’t actually agree with. Being in spaces that don’t sit right with you. Going along with things just to keep the peace.

And over time, that adds up.

You might be accepted… but it’s not really you that’s being accepted.

It’s a version of you that’s been edited to fit the room.

And the real danger isn’t what you’re doing—it’s what you slowly stop being.

You lose your edge.
Your honesty.
Your instincts.

You start second-guessing yourself more.
You start prioritizing comfort over truth.

And eventually, you start becoming someone that’s easier to accept—but harder to recognize.

If I have to change my core values and beliefs—or even make it look like I have—just to “fit in”…

That’s the one price I’ll never pay.

Then vs Now

If you caught me a few years earlier, I probably would’ve handled that situation differently.

Not by jumping in—but maybe by sticking around longer than I should have.
Maybe trying to convince myself, “It’s not that bad.”
Maybe just staying to avoid feeling awkward.

That’s what fitting in looks like when you’re younger—it’s not always about doing something wrong, it’s about avoiding discomfort.

Now?

I have zero interest in forcing myself into environments that don’t align with me.

No hesitation.
No overthinking.
No “maybe I’ll just…”

If it’s not for me, I’m out. Simple as that.

Choosing Values Over Validation

At some point—and it usually takes experience—you start to realize something:

Fitting in doesn’t mean anything if it costs you what you stand for.

That realization doesn’t come from advice. People can tell you that all day long, but it doesn’t hit the same until you actually feel it. Until you’re in a moment where you have to choose:

“Do I go along with this… or do I stand on what I believe?”

For me, it’s simple.

I don’t drink.
I don’t smoke.
I don’t do drugs.

And I don’t put myself in environments where that’s the norm.

Not because I think I’m better than anyone—but because I know what I’m about.

And once you’re clear on that, decisions get easier.

The Loneliness Phase

Here’s the part that doesn’t get sugarcoated.

When you stop trying to fit in, things can get… quiet.

You’re not in every room anymore.
You’re not part of everything.
You’re not constantly surrounded by people.

And yeah, that can feel isolating at first.

But there’s a difference between being alone… and being out of alignment with yourself.

That quiet space?

That’s where you figure yourself out.

That’s when you realize it’s better to be alone while you figure out your priorities than to go with the flow and let everyone else decide your life for you.

Finding Your People

When you stop forcing it, something shifts.

You stop chasing acceptance—and you start attracting the right people instead.

People who don’t need you to change.
People who respect your boundaries.
People who are actually on the same wavelength.

There’s a level of ease there that you don’t get when you’re trying to fit into the wrong environment.

No performance required.

No more having to put up walls.

You can finally exhale.

The Lesson You Can’t Skip

This isn’t something you can learn from a quote or a lecture.

You can hear it a hundred times:

“Be yourself.”
“Don’t follow the crowd.”
“Stay true to your values.”

It all sounds good.

But it doesn’t stick until you’ve been in situations where going along with something just doesn’t sit right with you.

Experience is what makes it real.

Experience is what turns advice into conviction.

The Bottom Line

When I was younger, I thought fitting in meant I was doing something right.

Now I understand that fitting in just meant I wasn’t questioning anything.

These days, I don’t measure my life by how well I fit into a room.

I measure it by how comfortable I am being myself when I walk into one.

And if that means I don’t belong everywhere?

Good.

That was never the goal.
Thanks for reading folks! I'll catch you next week!