For many years, I have been under the impression that, unlike most people, I do not like autumn. I roll my eyes when people proclaim happily that "It's 'sweatshirt' or 'good sleeping' weather." (I still do not understand what is so wonderful about having to wear thick bulky clothes instead of tank tops and shorts.)
This October has been so warm and breezy and sky-blue perfect, however, that I realized that it is only September who makes my bliss a hit or miss. September is the cicada-song skeletal scrap of succulent, sonorous Summer.
Every September when the wind whistles through the brittle leaves, my brain short circuits to my muscle-memory emotions of the 70s and 80s and the anxiety that returning to school created for me. (Around the Aughts--05, 06, 07, I short circuited to the emotions I felt leading up to and following the divorce. 08 and 09 were marked by Overinvolvement and Undersatisfaction.) When the dry warm September winds kick up the dust, and grass crunches beneath my feet, I feel that familiar sense of dread all over again.
Why was I anxious in school when I was a fairly good (if not always motivated) student? I felt like I was starting most years alone, without benefit of a clique. "Will I make friends?" was a question that always left me fraught with nerves. No, I didn't change schools a lot, but I somehow meandered in and out of friendships and relationships on at least a yearly basis.
By junior high, best friends from elementary school turned into cheerleaders, and by high school, jr. high pals turned into serial-daters-of-upperclassmen (read: doting and long-suffering jock's wives by the age of 15--Y.U.C.K.), and my lack of connections to help them in their social upward mobility would be grounds for dismissal. (One example: a junior high best friend cited the following reason for not wanting to hang out with me in the hallowed halls of high school: "You don't have very nice clothes." (This was not completely true--I simply did not badger my mother to spend her hard-earned salary for an updated wardrobe every two weeks, and I, gasp, wore the same clothes often.)
I also dealt with a fair share of users--girls in a trendier social circle would suddenly want to befriend me and spend the night at my house. This happened the summer after my brother "feathered" his hair and got bulky from playing football and turned into something a reluctant stud.
I saw through these bitches instantly. Sometimes, my brother's friends would show off by running up to me and picking me up, literally, or they'd affectionately put their arm around me. My friends would watch and smolder and want to know how I knew them. I thought nothing of these high school mating rituals. Of course they were showing off just to get the attention of freshman/sophomore girls who were supposed to go all ga-ga for them. And they did. And then they'd suddenly want to hang with me, only they didn't really give a crap about me, and I always knew it, and sometimes called their bluff, and I actually enjoyed that part!
I seemed to make better choices my Junior and Senior year, but nevertheless, it seemed I was mostly a free agent and clique-less, and that might have been by choice. I do remember a certain feeling of independence taking root in me. I couldn't quite define who I was because I was many things, and perhaps sticking to just one set of friends felt like limiting possibilities of discovering whom else I could be.
I did have some great friends in high school--Katie, Melissa, Michelle, Sue, Frank, Jessica, Jennifer, Maureen, Jay, Tim, Tom and some wonderful times. Despite spelling out what caused me anxiety (people), there were key friends who made my adolescent years happy and unconventional, and they accepted me the way I was.
It is worth considering the source of anxiety, however, to possibly re-wire my brain. It's human nature to remember the bad things, because it's the bad things that cause us to evolve, and if not evolve then at least protect ourselves from suffering again.
A recent and unexpected note from aforementioned friend Sue made me re-think the years that have brought this nuclear half-life of September Anxiety. She wrote of a shared high school experience so differently--friends, learning, movies, dances, activities, riding bikes, going to the beach. I did all of these things too and often had fun doing them. But she speaks of them fondly. I do not. It is possible that I was not as anxious, lonely, or sad as I had previously thought?
The truth is, I often *chose* to go places alone or to opt out of activities where "everyone" would be. I always wanted to see what else was out there. If I look at my adult life, I see that I was merely embarking on my journey of my life *becoming* a journey very early in life--I was an explorer, and you can't explore if you stay in the same surroundings! But exploring can be lonely and daunting. Perhaps the undertaking of exploration caused its own brand of anxiety that I have lumped in with social anxiety.
Looking back, I now see that I had exactly as many friends as I wanted. And despite not making the school annals for having perpetual boyfriends or making the list for "best dressed", "Most Popular," or "Prettiest," the truth is, my social standing was pretty damn good.
By the time graduation came around, I found myself invited to "open houses" of friends who hadn't really spoken to me in any meaningful way in a number of years. I went to a few, but one stands out in particular. I had a best friend in junior high. Oh my goodness we had so much fun together. But she so easily brushed me off like dust on her feet when social politics ousted long-standing friendships. She was a friend I sort of fought for. I'd had other girls do this to me, but I never thought she would. But she did. And she was none too subtle about it. It hurt for a long time but I moved on. She took the path of "wifey" by the time she was a freshman. When her jock "husband" graduated, she seemed alone and like her life had hit a pause button. Every once in a while I'd see her witnessing me with my friends--those moments when we were especially having a great time, and I'd see something cross her face, a subtle shade. Once in a while, she'd approach me to tell me how happy I looked. But we didn't rekindle the friendship.
As I was leaving her graduation party, she chased after me. She stopped me and started crying. She told me she was sorry that she didn't appreciate me and that I was the only friend who was ever true. I knew what she meant even though she didn't say it. Her best social-climbing girlfriends whom she chose over me all seemed to take turns betraying her by sleeping with her boyfriends, and this devastated her.
At this moment, I didn't really feel a lot, except for pity for her. I was no longer upset that she had ditched me or jealous that she had so many boyfriends. Instead I realized how much she missed in her adolescent years. I never got to experience that feeling of being swept off my feet by an older guy. She never got to experience pure fun with true friends.
I see her sometimes when I go back home. She wound up marrying her jock boyfriend. They are both very kind to me and always happy to see me. She values me in a way she never did growing up. This is not such a bad way for things to turn out, is it?
A few years back, I was entertaining some of my adult-phase-of-life friends in my hometown for a beach and winery weekend. For some small town kicks, we decided to go to a local karaoke bar. I moved away before I was old enough to drink legally, so I have never bar-hopped in my own town. I figured it would be fun. I'd be an outsider, wouldn't know anyone, and that would make it fun. Nope. It wasn't long before I was recognized by my best friends from elementary school who all became cheerleaders and subsequently by contract could no longer associate with me. The irony sunk in quickly--I was in that karaoke bar as a spoof. They were in there because that really was their life now--being aging queen bees in a small town bar. They loved high school, and it will always be the highlight of their lives. I don't envy them so much anymore.
One of them pulled me aside and apologized, flat out apologized for the way she treated me, stating that she always felt bad. Again, I was stunned. Did I gloat? No, of course not. I told her not to worry, that I never thought about it (pretty much true, but not completely). The truth is, the apology did mean something to me. It is not easy to apologize. She didn't have to do it. Despite her actions to the contrary, she did value my friendship, and she still thinks of it fondly. And she was a big enough person to admit it. Perhaps she felt safe to open up to me because I am the kind of person who is easy to approach truthfully.
I am now suddenly proud of the person I was.
I also recently saw a best friend from high school with whom I never had a falling apart or harsh feelings. She went to a prestigious university out of state, and I joined the Air Force. We both got married, and we lost touch. Social media helped her find me decades later, and on a whim, we wound up visiting her while we were on a road trip this fall.
Our lives took such different paths. She got a first rate education and made all new friends and married a well-to-do attorney in Northeastern city. I went military, married a military man, divorced a military man, and moved to a big city in the Midwest, pursuing a more artistic and less conventional life. And yet, over twenty-five years later, it was like being in high school again, sitting in her kitchen late on a Saturday night, eating popcorn and talking about our night and our friends and where our lives might go.
It was a great visit, and it was good to be reminded that I sought out good people in life. Later she sent me a text that was very meaningful to me. Very simple words. "It was so good to see you again. I had forgotten how down-to-earth you are and how easy it is talk to you."
Those aren't really words that people fantasize about at a young age. Instead you fantasize that they might say, "successful, pretty, exciting." But being praised for being authentic and honest and easy to talk to you is about the best outcome that a bright, confused, easily-hurt, and constantly-searching young girl could hope for.
So, September, why do you try to put me in a tail spin every year? You were simply part of the scenery that contributed to my larger journey and helped me become who I am. And I'm pretty good with who I am.
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