More Chaos? No Thanks, I’m Full.

You would never guess that I used to actively seek out chaos. I mean, today, I look exactly like the kind of person who mentally prepares for a trip to Target like I’m invading Normandy. I get stressed when someone parks in my grocery store parking spot, as though I personally own Space 42. But back in my late teens, living near Baltimore, my best friend and I would regularly drive down to D.C. just to sneak into these dim, crowded jazz clubs. We weren’t of legal age and had absolutely no business being there, but somehow we always found ourselves in the middle of smoky rooms listening to incredible musicians while pretending we absolutely belonged. I’ve spent the last thirty years chasing zucchini sticks that tasted that good. Spoiler alert: I haven’t found them. Apparently, the secret ingredient was underage trespassing. Entire weekends disappeared in a blur. We weren’t chasing trouble so much as chasing stories. Every weekend felt like an adventure, and we always assumed we’d make…