I had just walked into a new barbershop in San Francisco when the phone started buzzing. Dang ft. Anderson Paak had coincidentally just started to play (I know it’s crazier than it sounds). It was supposed to be a normal Friday off exploring the city I had just begun to get accustomed to. Then the TMZ headline hit. Mac Miller had passed away — overdosed — at the age of 26. And just like that, one of my favorite musical artists was gone. Just like that, Mac was no longer with us.

For the first time in my life, the pain of losing someone I had never actually met but connected with — felt like you bonded with through years of listening to his music and had attended concerts of his — really hit. A couple things went through my head: 1) was he really gone? 2) how do I being to even process something like this? Save the two funerals I’ve been to, I had never been through true loss. I decided right then and there that I was going to get out my immediate feelings through some Tweets. Obviously it was all I could do in a mostly helpless moment. It was a weak attempt at trying to begin to acknowledge something I knew would hit really hard.

This unknown feeling and emotion continued to cloud my thoughts. It felt like I had lost a close friend.

Like many other 20-something-year-old hip hop heads, I was in high school when a white rapper from Pittsburgh (same high school as Wiz) started to blow up. I still remember watching the music videos for Another Night and Nike’s On My Feet on YouTube after it popped up on my recommended feed. Even though he seemed a bit corny and somewhat out of place — was he trying to be the next Eminem? — I was sold right then and there. I had no idea what type of random journey was awaiting me on the other side of roughly 10 years.

I can only begin to explain my love and bond with Mac Miller through different moments in time; a string of separate memories that all had their respectful and important place in a now finite timeline of being a Day 1 Mac Miller fan. Wearing snapbacks and khaki shorts with white Nike socks almost every spring and summer day in high school. Bumping Senior Skip Day on Senior Skip Day. Being introduced to my love for streetwear through Mac’s very public endorsement of New York clothing brand, Only. And of course, attending my first Mac Miller concert as a senior in high school at the height of K.I.D.S; the very beginning of what would be a long-ranging, illustrious, but cut short career.

When people first started asking me how I got into clothes or discovered that I had interests in streetwear, I honestly didn’t have an answer. I always loved hip hop and a lot of rappers were notorious for pushing certain brands like Supreme, Stussy and LRG. And having played basketball all my life, there was a part of my that always directly or indirectly paid attention to what players were wearing. Until I really thought about it, there wasn’t really a clear answer. But one day, sometime after college, it became clear to me. It was seeing Mac Miller rock those suede Nike shoes and wear Only crewnecks on stage that planted a seed in high schooler Hayden that would, in due time, grow into a career-defining knowledge and love for a subculture that gave me the keys to a chapter of my life that I will forever hold onto dearly. Without Mac, I truly wouldn’t be where I am today in more than one way. Without Mac, I wouldn’t have truly understood the true power of love for culture.

It’s hard to say goodbye to someone who is only a few years older than my immediate friend group; who is a mere two trips around the sun older than me. It’s even harder to comprehend what this all really means. That’s why I called my dad after reading Vulture’s recent profile on the now passed hip hop legend — that had ironically just released two days ago — because I had to talk to someone who may not understand my true feelings of loss (his was seeing Magic Johnson announce he had HIV), but could empathize with the idea of losing a connection with an individual/group that had impacted their life tremendously without having had a personal relationship. Because at that very moment, I started to think about the long-term impact of seeing a historical career cut short prematurely — especially as I walked down street corners on a sunny Friday afternoon and heard random corners playing their favorite Mac records in silence.

It’s funny. Just this past Sunday, I had been texting one of my close friends who happens to be the other biggest Mac fan out of my friend group. Among other things, he had joked about me telling him (half-jokingly) back in high school that I didn’t think Mac was going to make it past the age of 25 (a rare time when I hated being right). That it was incredible to, instead of seeing another rapper give into mainstream stereotypes and become another statistic, see one of our favorite artists reaching a point in his career where he could finally be fully honest about his life through the form of chart topping records , despite all the ups and downs that went down throughout his now ended career.

I don’t know how long it will take for me to fully realize that Mac is gone forever. To realize that Swimming will be his last album. To understand that Mac was 26 and just getting started.

I’m sure it will never really go away.

But when I have trouble sleeping, I will, like I’ve always done, revert back to Mac classics — K.I.D.S., GO:OD AM, Live From Space, Watching Movies With The Sound Off, The High Life, others — and think back to the days when having fun and relaxing with the day 1’s in suburban garages was the only thing that seemed to make sense. I’ll revert back to the moments of abundant brilliance that existed alongside the endless witty humor and entertainment that Mac gifted us over the last 10 years. Like a VHS tape stored away in a box, I’ll pull out my memories of Mac out whenever things don’t make sense and relive some of the best and most molding moments of my young adulthood.

Rest Easy Mac. You’ll be missed but never forgotten, especially when I introduce you to my future KIDS.