The muggy June night washed over our skin as we booked it out of the church. The remaining number of cars were illuminated by parking lights and the scarce stars in the sky. Our laughs and chants found themselves bouncing back to our ears off the concrete walls. We piled ourselves into the youth pastor’s car, climbing over and kicking each other, and made our way to the Waffle House just off of Riverside Parkway for a late night dinner.

The jukebox played on the speakers overhead, Steve Perry’s voice commanded that we “don’t stop believing” while we watched the new promotional video for our upcoming summer retreat. As we ate syrup-covered waffles off of dirty plates with dirty forks, drank sweet tea and chocolate milk, I wished I had brought a camera. I took note of my friends’ smiles and beautiful expressions, I promised to remember their laughs and gentle words of love. I felt warm, I felt alive, I felt like I was part of something beautiful: a group of misfits from the suburbs of Atlanta who couldn’t imagine our summer nights as anything but this.

Years passed by, I moved states, lost touch, and found myself no longer part of the group. I saw them post pictures from each new event, all smiling faces and arms wrapped around each other. I’ve watched them graduate, start new bands, break up and move away. At this distance, I can see them living lives we never thought possible; lives that were out of reach to us as aloof and carefree kids in the Waffle House dining room.

I can say the same for myself; I’ve transformed from the person I was at 13 to who I am now at  18. I’ve made new friends, gone to new churches and schools, played new instruments and have begun new projects. I found myself within a new group of misfits, not from Atlanta, of course, but all still beautiful and wonderful in their own rite. Often times, I still long for those summer nights spent at the “WaHo.” Distance will meet my mind and tell me I’ve lost the happy days, and that growing up will nullify the memories. Every summer, we have the same conversation about recreating those nights; but then, we remember why we all fell apart. In those moments, where the past seems lost, I learn to appreciate my talent for being nostalgic and sentimental.

In those summer memories, I find solace in the weathered images of my friends. I come back to that same joy and warmth I felt in the sticky booths of Waffle House. I can feel their arms wrapping around me and holding me tight, begging me to never let go. I allow their embrace to melt into my soul, keeping me close to who I was. I can now find the joy change and new beginnings, but still look to the past for a sense of true sentiment and belonging. I’ve learned to keep each person, each memory, each moment of true euphoria close to my heart. These moments are what drive my creativity and beckon me to explore new ideas and beginnings. Where I sometimes find myself shying away from foreign situations, my former self pulls me in, begging me to live in the moment and embrace the unusual. Furthering my education, getting jobs beyond minimum pay, buying homes and starting families is daunting and somewhat unsettling at times. Unfamiliarity can create a new, uncertain anxiety in anyone. Yet, I can still look back at my younger self, see her smiling, and hear her laughing through the fogged glass of that little diner. She holds my hand and walks alongside me into the future, into the great unknown of growing up.