Past advice

Last night, I was talking with Mindy and Rachel about a friend request I’d gotten on Facebook from a guy I apparently went to high school with but have NO memory of. What makes that fact really embarrassing is that my high school was small. I mean my graduating class was about 40 people and most other classes were comparable, so remembering someone should be easy. Add to that the fact that this guy is a few years older than me and I’m further confused.

That conversation with Mindy and Rachel led to me getting out my year books and looking up said person. And I still have NO memory of who he is. None. Zilch. I’m going to have to ask my brother and my mom and listen to them say things like, “how can you NOT remember that?”

(It should also be noted that by getting out my yearbooks while Mindy and Rachel were there, they both got to see the 7th grade picture of me I’ve tried to keep hidden. The one with big bangs and glasses that (no lie) take up 3/4 of my face. I. am. not. kidding. I am also NOT smiling in this lovely picture. I will try to keep this gem hidden better from now on.)

Somewhere in there, though, I began looking through my senior memory book and reading the things people had written in there. Some were the things everyone says. Stay the same! Don’t forget me! You’ll go far in life because you have a great personality. (I tend to think of that phrase as a nice way for someone to call you ugly, but I’m going to believe that the person who wrote it meant that I was actually a fairly nice person in high school.) Some people thanked me for friendship and giving them rides. One friend told me she expected to see me writing for Time magazine in the future. (Don’t think that one will come true!)

I was struck by the things we wrote. Because when we wrote those things, we meant them. We thought we were so grown up, ready to take on the world, and have our big adventures. We thought we were mature and ready for anything the world could throw at us. When I read those words now, more than 10 years later, I just reflect on how naive we were. How sheltered our lives had been. I think of us, writing notes in each other’s memory books on the cusp of adulthood and revel at all the ways things could have gone and all the ways they did.

As someone who’s a little older and has a little more perspective, part of me would like to tell us to slow down. To not wish those moments away. To savor the last bits of dependence on our parents and families, to not strain so hard for independence. I’d tell my class that change happens; life happens. And sometimes, it’s the journeys that we never expected that become the sweetest moments of our lives. I’d encourage my friends and classmates to make good choices, to think before we leaped, to trust God more than we trusted ourselves.

And then, I got to close that book and reflect on the life I have lived. It isn’t the one my friends expected or even what I thought would happen. But it’s good, and these days, I can see God’s hand in it. And life is good. And I am happy. And all is well.

But if I do ever decide to get really big glasses again, remind me of my 7th grade picture!