So High School
What does (and does not) change in ten years
I recently attended the wedding of a friend from high school.
I don’t enjoy weddings, and I really didn’t enjoy high school. In the weeks leading up to the ceremony, my anxiety was a nightmare. I hadn’t seen majority of my classmates since we’d tossed our caps a decade earlier. When the school experienced declining enrollment and ultimately closed in 2019, I’d barely batted an eye.
After nine years of public school, I transferred at the start of ninth grade to a private, Catholic institution. This wasn’t unusual. A lot of kids made the switch then, many for the same reasons I did: smaller class sizes, fewer mean girls, no drug issues, etc. (I was unique in that my decision was truly swung after meeting a gorgeous, punk rocker on my shadow day named Terry Orlando. I spent two years wishing he would make out with me in the backseat of his broken down Mercedes to no avail…).
I think all of us who made the decision hoped the change would give us a chance at having the kind of teenage experience we’d seen in movies, or at the very least something happier than what we’d had in middle school. This worked out for a few people. Unfortunately, I wasn’t one of them.
There were two main social circles at my high school. Theatre, and basketball (basketball people usually played another sport, too; basketball was just where our school mostly won state championships). There were also quieter kids and oddballs. The guy who regularly wore rip-off pants, the girl obsessed with Pretty Little Liars, the kid who shook the vending machine whenever a candy bar got stuck to a roaring round of applause…
Then you had me. Too uncoordinated for the athletic group, interested in pop-punk songs rather than show tunes. Artsy. Smart. Lefty liberal before others had awakenings in college. Driven like a used car. And generally disinterested in social dynamics. I jumped at opportunities to do something other than sit through full days of high school politics, hearing who was dating who or trying to make sense of the daily inside jokes. As excited as I was senior year to take a college-level writing workshop, I felt just as thrilled not to have to put up with eight hours of teenage drama.
My disinterest became synonymous with me being stuck-up—or uppity, for those with higher SAT verbal scores—which wasn’t true. I didn’t think I was better than everyone else. My feelings were more complicated than that.
I’d known forever that I wanted to go to a good college, followed by graduate school. I wanted to live in New York, write books, attend concerts, become a regular at cool restaurants, own amazing outfits, date a curly-haired guy in glasses, take trips to places like Cannes and Brussels and London. I had a path, a whole plan. And its success felt hinged on perfection.
If I did everything to a T, my dreams had to come true, right?
I knew folks were having fun without me, but I worried about the downsides of the fun. I didn’t think I could handle wine coolers or the possibility of teenage heartbreak throwing me off-course. So I didn’t. I spent a little time with my peers and a lot of time with my passions. It was. . . okay. Eventually, I wanted more.
I’ll admit it took the first couple years of college for me to figure out how to pursue a true social circle alongside a working/academic life. Honestly, I’m still working on that balance. By my early twenties, though, I had a better handle on it. Around the same time, I (literally) bumped into a friend I had managed to make in high school who was also working on 27th Street at the time. It sparked a better friendship than we’d had as teenagers, which ultimately led to the wedding invitation, and me seeing a slew of people I had barely though of in ten years.
There were lots of hugs and hellos, the phrase, “Wow, it’s been a while!” cooed repeatedly. I ordered a double-Jameson cranberry—remember, I can handle a drink while working toward my goals now!—and made the rounds of familiar faces, dragging my partner along in case I needed back-up. Surprisingly, I didn’t.
It was kind of fun to hear how lives were panning out. Not so much had changed beyond some haircuts, new tattoos, and engagement rings. A lot of people had actually transformed their childhood passions into adult pursuits.
The other liberal person in AP Gov class had worked for a California House Representative before now pursuing a Masters in Political Science. One of the most talented theatre performers does costume work for television and shows on Broadway. The sister of someone I’d known since we were elementary students who’d long been passionate for medicine just finished her nursing degree. A woman who used to riff arias in the back of French class now performed and taught opera.
Everyone kept chasing their dreams, and many had arrived at a good place.
A few folks asked about me, too. Some wondered if I was based in London or New York. They couldn’t tell from my Instagram posts. Almost everyone queried if I’d kept writing, figuring I had.
Spoiler alert: summarizing a decade of your accomplishments at a cocktail party is a surprisingly great way to make yourself feel better. It forced me to put aside the things that bother me every day and instead focus on what I have done; how the good stuff really did meet the goals I had dreamt of as a teenager. The Manhattan residency, the fancy degrees, even the curly-haired glasses-wearing partner by my side. It was my daily life. Just as I always wanted.
“Wow, it sounds like you’re right where you belong,” one woman said.
I smiled, nodded. That might not be exactly true. There’s still a little ways to go. But it’s good to be reminded that I’m heading in the right direction.
Rachel’s Weekly Recs:
I recently finished “the dyke status book of the summer”: the reissue of Women by Chloe Caldwell. It’s a lesbian romance novella; a read-in-a-single sitting affair. Like vests and dental floss (which a friend of mine recently dubbed among the items in everyday life that are unquestionably gay), this book is super queer and also super heartbroken. Get yourself a copy, ideally from Hive Mind Books, NY and NJ’s traveling bookseller.
After finally watching the Sex and the City reboot, I felt inspired to treat myself to shoes. I went with these metallic pink, bow platforms from Dream Pairs. I already own some glittery sling-backs from the company and they are insanely comfortable. I hope Carrie Bradshaw would be proud.
Instagram influences me in the kitchen a lot. I made this frozen Limoncello recipe from Daniela’s Dish. I forgot the ice so it turned out a bit smoother than expected. All-in-all a tasty summer cocktail. Would recommend enjoying outside for a top tier experience.