Lucky Number Seven

When I was eight years old, I moved schools for the first time. My mom told me it would be the last. We moved from L.A. to somewhere more upstate, and I believed her.

To this day, I’ve moved fifteen times—once for every grade.

My mother wasn’t in the military or anything like that. If I had to explain it, I’d say she’s an entrepreneur. Always searching, always chasing the next opportunity for her and her son. A single mother trying to build a better life from the ground up.

Being exposed to so many environments taught me more than just geography. I learned about people. I watched them grow, laugh, cry, break each other down—never with fists, always with words.

When I visited my aunt’s house, she’d ask, “You’re at that age—why haven’t you gotten a girlfriend yet?”

I’d tell her it’s because I’m too scared to make the first move.

But that’s not the truth.

The truth is, my life doesn’t leave room for long-term connections. None of my friendships last longer than a year. I never stay in one place long enough to let roots grow.

Sure, there’s the internet. But people fade. Conversations get shorter. Replies slow down. Eventually, they stop altogether. And I can’t really blame them. Why put time into something that no longer exists in your daily life?

Still… sometimes, there are exceptions.