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adulting

From left, Michael Tessler and best friend Jonathan Rabeno check out the sights and sounds of Hollywood. Photo from Michael Tessler

By Michael Tessler

Michael Tessler

Adulting is hard. This is a fact the universe likes to remind me of time and time again. Just when you think you’ve mastered it … BAM! you discover that you can’t buy a used, off-brand Roomba online and expect it to work for more than a week (it is now a glorified doorstop that makes me look way more successful than I am). 

Seriously though, every time I begin to feel comfortable adulting, I receive an absurd reminder that I am totally unequipped to cope with the actual stresses of figuring out what the heck an IRS 1095-A form is.

In the chaos of this transition, there are some victories. Both of my apartment’s fire alarms are incredibly sensitive and wail at the slightest inkling that I’m frying up turkey bacon. Using my adulting skills (and The Force) I’ve repurposed my replica Luke Skywalker lightsaber and have placed it in the living room so we can easily shut off the fire alarm, which would otherwise require a ladder. These small victories keep me going until the existential dread kicks in … this moment may be the nearest I will ever get to being an actual Jedi, but it is better than nothing.

During my ongoing efforts to embrace and tackle adulthood, I made a leap of faith by hosting not just one of my friends but three of them at the same time. In my mind, I was opening a sleepaway camp complete with preplanned activities, snack times and lots of sugar-free popsicles. When opening a sleepaway camp for your friends, be wary … they’ll probably want to actually do vacation things.

After you move across the country twice, it can be pretty difficult to maintain long-distance friendships. We as people tend to evolve and grow apart when placed far away from one another and/or while going through major life changes. Living in Los Angeles, work tends to get in the way of just about everything else. The extraordinary cost of living makes it hard to find time to take care of yourself let alone be there for others. Work, relationships, dreaded time zones … all can easily become excuses to disconnect. For me though, the greater the distance the more I begin to see which friendships matter and which don’t.

Best friends are the individuals you can go without seeing for months or even years and pick up right where you left off. They’re the ones who see your potential when you cannot. They know me better than I know myself. So thank you to my friends, the ones who have guided me on my path and inspired me through their own successes and comebacks. My friends are all pretty unique. Each occupies a special place in my heart. Their combined chemistry can be exhausting sometimes but also wildly entertaining (except if you’re our Uber driver in which case I’m so sorry).

Port Jefferson is just about as small as a small town can be. What’s most impressive about this community is, despite its smallness, the friendships made during the Port Jeff chapter of my life have proven to be the most lasting and most meaningful. I’m saying this because at present I’ve got three of my best friends in the world squeezed into my Hollywood apartment occupying an air mattress, my mattress and the couch, respectively. (So sorry to my roommate Andrew.) It’s not quite summer camp, but it sure is fun being back with the gang.

We’re about to head to Venice Beach. My best friend Jon and I have committed to wearing matching cat swimsuits. That should hopefully distract the rest of my friends from the $85 parking ticket they already got and the fact that I only own three blankets and there’s four people here. But hey, at least we’re together!

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