Thinking About Life (As It Pertains to High School) Part 1

Guys. This is some straight-up inception level* stuff happening right now. I originally wrote the first half of this post the summer before I went to college. My wonderful cousin was preparing to start her freshman year of high school, and as I contemplated it my thought progression looked something like this:

"Wow, I love her so much. I hope she never experiences crushing sadness or regret or heartbreak or isolation"

"She's going to high school (and is also A HUMAN). 
This shit is inevitable"

"Oh my god, I will kick anybody who makes her sad"

"I 100% will. I challenge anybody to get near my feet and hurt her feelings. Their reckoning will be painful and swift."

"How can I help her (besides stellar accuracy and precision)? What advice could I possibly give that will make things easier, when all of my advice hinges on experience and perspective and having lived through things. She is but a sweet, hopeful babe in the woods, not yet hounded by the horrors of adolescence" (things get needlessly dramatic here but no worries I'm about to steer it back).

Realization: Even if I can't kick everyone and everything who will make her life difficult, I can share a little bit more of my life with her. My wonderful cousin and I are incredibly different in most ways (something that will come in handy for her quite a bit, I'm sure), but there are some parts of the human experience I like to think are universal. These are the parts that are significant and difficult and wonderful, and in my infinite knowledge as an 18 year old, I am totally qualified to talk about them. For me, sharing effectively means putting my thoughts into writing. 
I am not delusional—I remember how little the advice of the elderly did to aid in my adolescent struggle. But I'm also obnoxiously persistent when it comes to hoisting my opinions upon unwilling recipients**.

Summation: If I could give anything to my wonderful cousin, it would be the knowledge that she is not alone. She just isn't. None of us are. And that's why I decided to write about high school (a decision soon followed by: "This feels hard. Like, this feels like a really hard thing to do.")

In a predictable twist of fate, I never finished writing about high school. I woke up today and realized I should do that. For my own peace of mind, and also just to get that stuff out (as people do). I'm not going to edit much even though my views have changed slightly—distance does that—because the most important parts are the same and always will be.

*is that reference still relevant? was it ever? quick, someone remind me how to be hip and/or cool! 
**it's one of my more finely honed skills.

I'm a week away from wrapping up the first semester of my senior year, and it's a strange feeling. Every year of high school has inevitably been unique in it's own right—remaining static is impossible and change is part of growing up—but this year stands alone in an interesting (and hard to articulate) way. 

Today I got an overwhelming urge to write about my high school experience. I have no idea why, because it basically encompasses all of the most difficult and undefined feelings, events, and realizations I've had in my veryshort life so far. 

I'm writing this to reflect on where I started and where I am now. Next year I'll be leaving the house and town I grew up in and the parents and friends who have taught me so much, and to call the transition significant would be a gross understatement.  I've always been fascinated with the way people relate to one another, and over the last four years I've done a lot of relating. 40% of it is made up of things that make me vaguely uncomfortable, while 30% of it has been things I've done/said/believed that I, in hindsight, would probably not repeat.

The other 30% is made up of moments that have effectively changed the way I think and see the world around me, and those are the things that remind me why being a human is sometimes great. I'm going to bust out a grand cliche here and say that I wouldn't change 95% of it if given the chance (this is as far as my math skills go. No more percentages from here on out), and maybe soon I'll stop thinking about the things I could have done differently. Until that point, I've (for the most part) forgiven myself for my mistakes and apologized to those I've hurt. 

Now begins a summary of my educational life comprising lots of self-analysis and cliches. I just found out that writing about high school involves many cliches. I recognize this and can't really do anything to change it (without becoming a better writer).

In elementary and middle school, I felt things deeply and struggled to express them. When I thought I was being rejected or excluded, I didn't know how to articulate my hurt. Instead I would lash out. When I felt uncomfortable or unwanted, I tried to appear hard and infallible. I wanted to show others that I didn't need them, that they couldn't affect me, when the reality is that I did and they could. Like many adolescent girls, my self-esteem was low and my desire to be accepted was strong. When I made mistakes, though I berated myself internally, I was too embarrassed to acknowledge them. Apologizing, for me, was almost physically difficult. Admitting that I'd messed up meant revealing the flaws I had already internally catalogued and reminded myself of constantly. People saw me as confident and opinionated (if not pleasantly so), and I struggled to reconcile the way I was perceived with how I felt inside. I mention this not because it sets me apart from others in any particular way, but because I was still struggling with these things when I began high school.

During my freshman year I was both incredibly invested in my social life and determined to make the most of a semi-fresh start. The high expectations I had were matched only by strength of my insecurity—it would be many difficult semesters before I began to recognize how reliant my self-esteem was on the opinions of others. I entered school with a close group of friends and, because of this (as well as discomfort in social situations), didn't work hard to make many more. Meeting new people meant opening myself up to rejection, which scared me. I realize now that on a deep level, I felt I had very little to offer—the possibility of my friends and peers realizing I was unnecessary affected me in many ways, none of them positive. If I could tell myself anything about this year it would be that:

1) In order to treat others with kindness, you have to allow yourself the same level of respect and understanding. It was in the moments when I felt fundamentally worthless that I said the most hurtful things to others, and my inability to recognize the power of those words helped nobody.
2) Perspective helps. This thing you're feeling will not last forever—it generally won't even last a few months.
3) Along the same lines: when people hurt you, hurting them fixes nothing. It makes them more likely to pull away. Moreover, when people pull away, hurting them more will not help the problem.
4) In high school, there may be times when all your friends decide they don't like you. This feels like the absolute end of the world, I know. I wish I had some insight that will make this experience hurt less, but it's heart-wrenching. These are your people, they know you deeply, and they've chosen to treat you like you are deeply flawed. It's critical that you know you are not. You are just normal-flawed, and guess what? So is everyone else. Which is pretty great when you really let it sink in.
5) Try your hardest not to discuss other people in negative ways (this is called gossip but we all know that).

In the course of my first two years of high school I learned to communicate with those I'd hurt as well as those who had hurt me. This kind of communication does not involve texting, online chats, or a host of mutual friends and crossed signals and hushed stories relayed and dissected with everyone but the one who could actually elucidate things really quickly. It's so important to learn how to look someone in the eyes and truly listen, and this is something that is only learned by doing the damn thing (a motto for life).

The summer before my junior year I recognized that there is no obligation to remain close with the people who have cut too deep. Because it can happen—words have impact, and they can impact relationships in significant ways. They can be hurled and spit and withheld and rubbed in until they're there, even after time has passed and apologies have been made. There were moments when broken connections with others were audible. When we looked directly at one another and knew too much had been said and not enough had been heard. There were also times when the crack was created without a sound—by the time we recognized it, the damage had been done. It's a glorious thing to realize that it is possible to see these mangled relationships mend and taper off without bitterness or residual hurt. It's freeing and healthy, and sometimes I worry that our culture is too focused on permanence. Why does "best friends forever" mean more than just "best friends"? Isn't it enough to be someone's everything in the moment—why do we have the urge to pin a relationship down and hold it there? Part of growing up is loosening our hold on the illusion of permanence and giving ourselves a little space to breath. This goes a long way towards appreciating the present (an idea I could write pages about), which in turn can help squelch any impending existential crises (but they're so fun!).
Just because a friendship doesn't last a lifetime doesn't make it any less meaningful. I've been affected by everyone who's been a part of my life, regardless of their role or the amount of time they spent there.

This concludes Part 1! I feel like an audiobook right now. The nostalgia is hitting. Oh jeez, now I want to take a bath and listen to a Harry Potter book-on-tape and wear a bathrobe with a dog face on the hood.

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