still the same

When my childhood friend Lindsey and I met up a few times this summer, I begged her for all the details of the grown-up lives of my grade-school classmates. I had moved away after third grade and had no idea what anyone other than Lindsey was up to in their lives. Though some of what I heard surprised me, most of it didn’t. The fact that Russ B. got kicked out of school, Tony W. went to jail, and Cindy L. was still a bitch didn’t shock me in any way. Some things never change.

The same is even more true of our high school classmates. Less time has passed, so they are even more likely to be the same people they were. And thanks to the power of modern-day social networking sites, anyone has the capability of checking up on their former classmates (though stalking might be a better word). Late last night, out of boredom (or maybe because this non-coffee drinker drank two cups of coffee yesterday afternoon), I e-stalked my high school classmates online. And profile after profile, only one thought came to mind (over and over again) - they haven’t changed a bit. I wasn’t surprised by anything I saw (other than possibly the speed at which my former classmates seem to be popping out babies). But oh how I have changed, I thought to myself. In a way, I even thought I was better than them for it. But I soon realized that I haven’t changed so much, and that if they were to think one thing about me, it would probably be that I haven’t changed a bit either.

I am an awful lot like my high school self. I went on a little detour in my first years of college, but luckily got back on route. We all spend a good chunk of our lives trying to figure out who we are, and I think I had myself pretty spot on at 16. Of course, I didn’t know this then, and I proceeded to change (a few times) in order to find myself, but in hindsight, I was right on at 16. Not so much at 15, or even 17, but at 16, I was golden. I remember, sometime around 21, wishing I could be more like my 16-year-old self. How smart, and beautiful, and kind the 16-year-old me was. She was my ideal me. And luckily, I found my way back to her. I am once again the 16-year-old me… except now I’m older, wiser, and not such a dumb-ass (because let’s face it, we all kind of are at 16).

As much as it pained me to think I was just like everyone else, that I hadn’t changed either, I knew I was no different. My location may have changed, my interests too, but I haven’t changed. None of us have. We are older, wiser, (hopefully) more mature. We have jobs and responsibilities, some have families. We are all much different people than we used to be, but at our core, 16 or 6, I think most of us are still the same people we are now as we were then. After all, Cindy L. is still a bitch.

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