Someone asked me the other day what I want to be when I grow up—the implication being, I guess, that I’ve yet to become an adult. I took it as a compliment.

The funny thing is, I’ve been thinking about that a lot lately, and I’m starting to believe that there is no answer to that question. In fact, I have a deep suspicion that the term “grown-up” was created by people who have absolutely no idea how to have fun—people who’ve never looked across a chairlift of laughing friends on a sunny powder day, or caught the last wave in after watching a perfect sunset from the water, and been struck silent by the thought: life could not get any better than this moment.

As I’m sitting here typing these words, our Barely Legal pinup girl, Lacey Baker, is skating outside my office in the parking lot. And as much as it makes me want to douse myself in patchouli, throw on a Phish album, light some incense, and then kick my own ass for being such a feel-good hippie, this past half-hour has shown me that the only thing I want to be when I grow up is half as badass as this 13-year-old who’s rolling back and forth by my window.

And if that’s wrong, baby, I don’t want to be right. All hail the next generation.

—Melissa

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