When I was in high school, I worried about whether or not I’d get caught cutting class, or sneaking my boyfriend into the house when my parents weren’t home. I wasn’t what you’d call a “good kid,” and I didn’t hang out with any “good kids.”
As much as I hate to admit it, I am susceptible to the pressures of our culture. The internalized belief that, at thirty-four, I should have found “Mr. Right” and be married with our first kid on the way. But that hasn’t happened – yet.