“I hate small towns because
once you’ve seen the cannon in the park
there’s nothing else to do. ”
-Lenny Bruce

The day you stop caring what other people think of you is the day you truly start living. And as I sit in a crowded coffee shop, sipping an overly expensive decaf iced latte, I never imagined I’d be the one typing those words.

I grew up surrounded by people who didn’t share my interests, my values, or even my basic energy. Making real friends felt impossible. For a long time, I questioned if I was the problem. Maybe I was too outspoken politically. Maybe I was too quiet when asked if I was going to Rock the South that year. Either way, one thing I’ve learned is this: southern people can be incredibly judgmental.

During middle school, I spent every waking moment worrying about how others perceived me. It was exhausting. But I kept doing it. Until high school—specifically junior year—when everything shifted. I had just left a relationship with someone I should never have been tied to, trying to rediscover who I was without them. And in that process, I found half of myself. The other half came when I moved 900 miles away to New York City.

Now, having graduated from my own personal hellhole of a high school—filled with even more devilish individuals—I can finally say: I know who I am. And I love her.

I don’t care what people think about me anymore. You can’t afford to if you live in a place like New York. Everyone always has something to say about what you’re doing—or what you’re not doing. But honestly… who cares? Who are they? And why would I give their opinions any weight?

I’ve recently met someone who lives for the approval of others. Their every move is dictated by how they’ll be perceived. Not only is it exhausting to witness, it’s heartbreaking. Because this person is denying themselves the things—and people —they truly want, out of fear. How sad is it to crave something so deeply, and still turn away from it just because you’re worried about what someone else might say?

People like that don’t change. They’ll spend their lives in that loop. I was lucky enough to see the light at the end of the tunnel. And yeah, at first, I was scared to run toward it—because maybe someone would laugh at the way I ran. But then I remembered: no one gets to hold that kind of power over me.

So I ran. And I didn’t just run—I made sure they saw me leave. I stepped out of that tunnel and onto the streets of New York City, while they stayed behind, frozen in a small town they’ll never leave. Not because they can’t, but because they’re too afraid of what people might think if they try.