(no subject)
Tonight was our Commemoration--a trip down memory lane of sorts. My classmates impressed me with their verbal stylings as they recalled times past and hopes for the future. I experienced what was promised to us: laughter and tears. But, I finally realized that these were moments that we now share with one another--that our experiences are no longer solely our own, now we are one. Solidified.
And in the same gesture, I find that I don't know who I will remain friends with over the years. I spent a half an hour talking about my future with my dad's secretary this afternoon, coming to the conclusion that I honestly have no conception of what will come, that I have no ability to force the future. With that in mind, I find myself thinking that these are the last days.
People come and go in my life, and every kindred spirit I encounter leaves me filled with soulpeace. I cannot count on the bests I have--they have changed too radically for me to say that I know them (with one or two exceptions). They are strangers to my eyes, my heart. So in the stage of life about completion, I find some of my most treasured friendships finished. I struggle with this concept. I have learned from them. I have found solace in the aura of comfort that emenated from their smiles. I have loved, and known how it feels to experience that same love. My heart is open to this contact--my friends have taught me that I need to keep my heart free, that protection is a deception in its own.
This was my contribution to tonight:
I remember when Jill Copek invited me to eat lunch with her. Now, this may seem laughable and trivial here, in the final moments of our senior year, but when I first came to Winters Mill, I was timid, skittish, scared. I had no connections to anyone in the school-a startling adjustment, since I had spent the past eleven years in the smallest of schools with the most familiar of faces. I was The New Girl (strangely enough, since we would all claim that title).
My first day was traumatic; the lunchroom rocketed from reality and expanded, filling with numberless, anonymous faces the moment I stepped through the doors. But I sat by myself, picking at the cafeteria lunch (which was hardly encouraging). I remember, quite vividly, that the group sitting a table down from me actually getting up and moving because they ‘didn’t have enough room for everyone to sit.’ In that moment, high school seemed everything that the outcasts and social pariahs in movies and books had promised. I went home in tears.
The next day, my limbs dreaded the steps off the bus, the walkway to my locker, the interlude between classes. So I sat, literally, with my head in my hands in Mrs. Maurer’s English class, trying not to think of the dreaded bell to come, when I felt a touch on my shoulder. There was Jill, smiling. She asked me if I wanted to sit with her and some other girls at lunch. Now, if you would, imagine. Imagine the validation, the hope that this gave me. Someone (someone!) wanted ME to be their friend.
And although Jill and her friend left for a vacation to Jamaica within a week of school starting, and I found another table in their absence to share my meals with, I never forgot those few words that meant the changing of the tides for me. Because, my life at Winters Mill, I now realize, did not begin with the trepidation of the first day and with the falcon that would not fly, but that it started with the promise of friendship. It had a profound effect on me. That promise showed me how to grow. Jill, Thank You.
I realized many things tonight.
It's all right to cry in public--something that I had not done in all four years.
I found that in all my years at Montessori, I never really had the need to make new friends, that that was a skill that I discovered and fine-tuned in high school.
Pain is OK to share--it helps, it heals. Harboring hurt will only make life harder.
Being yourself is the only gift you have to offer, for without it you are a lie.
I could die tomorrow and find peace, I think.
And in the same gesture, I find that I don't know who I will remain friends with over the years. I spent a half an hour talking about my future with my dad's secretary this afternoon, coming to the conclusion that I honestly have no conception of what will come, that I have no ability to force the future. With that in mind, I find myself thinking that these are the last days.
People come and go in my life, and every kindred spirit I encounter leaves me filled with soulpeace. I cannot count on the bests I have--they have changed too radically for me to say that I know them (with one or two exceptions). They are strangers to my eyes, my heart. So in the stage of life about completion, I find some of my most treasured friendships finished. I struggle with this concept. I have learned from them. I have found solace in the aura of comfort that emenated from their smiles. I have loved, and known how it feels to experience that same love. My heart is open to this contact--my friends have taught me that I need to keep my heart free, that protection is a deception in its own.
This was my contribution to tonight:
I remember when Jill Copek invited me to eat lunch with her. Now, this may seem laughable and trivial here, in the final moments of our senior year, but when I first came to Winters Mill, I was timid, skittish, scared. I had no connections to anyone in the school-a startling adjustment, since I had spent the past eleven years in the smallest of schools with the most familiar of faces. I was The New Girl (strangely enough, since we would all claim that title).
My first day was traumatic; the lunchroom rocketed from reality and expanded, filling with numberless, anonymous faces the moment I stepped through the doors. But I sat by myself, picking at the cafeteria lunch (which was hardly encouraging). I remember, quite vividly, that the group sitting a table down from me actually getting up and moving because they ‘didn’t have enough room for everyone to sit.’ In that moment, high school seemed everything that the outcasts and social pariahs in movies and books had promised. I went home in tears.
The next day, my limbs dreaded the steps off the bus, the walkway to my locker, the interlude between classes. So I sat, literally, with my head in my hands in Mrs. Maurer’s English class, trying not to think of the dreaded bell to come, when I felt a touch on my shoulder. There was Jill, smiling. She asked me if I wanted to sit with her and some other girls at lunch. Now, if you would, imagine. Imagine the validation, the hope that this gave me. Someone (someone!) wanted ME to be their friend.
And although Jill and her friend left for a vacation to Jamaica within a week of school starting, and I found another table in their absence to share my meals with, I never forgot those few words that meant the changing of the tides for me. Because, my life at Winters Mill, I now realize, did not begin with the trepidation of the first day and with the falcon that would not fly, but that it started with the promise of friendship. It had a profound effect on me. That promise showed me how to grow. Jill, Thank You.
I realized many things tonight.
It's all right to cry in public--something that I had not done in all four years.
I found that in all my years at Montessori, I never really had the need to make new friends, that that was a skill that I discovered and fine-tuned in high school.
Pain is OK to share--it helps, it heals. Harboring hurt will only make life harder.
Being yourself is the only gift you have to offer, for without it you are a lie.
I could die tomorrow and find peace, I think.