I never smoked weed growing up. Not that I’m against it in any way, it just wasn’t my thing. I didn’t get into it in middle school, when all my friends did, and by the time we reached high school it felt like I would just be doing it to fit in rather than picking it up organically. So the window in which I wouldn’t have felt like a total poseur just sort of passed me by.
But living in an upper-middle class suburb in the early 2000’s you can imagine I was in the vast minority of kids that traveled the path of non-indulgence. And somehow that was always fine with me. Because no one ever bothered me about it. No one ever asked me why I didn’t smoke, not that I had a serious reason anyway. No one ever pressured me, poked fun at my choices or let them strain our personal relationship. I can comfortably say that, despite never taking a puff, I never experienced a single incidence in which I felt ostracized or looked down upon for my choices. In a peer group that prioritized getting blazed above pretty much everything else, no one ever bothered me about it. And that’s because I have a gift.