The Best Years of Our Lives

When you come to certain turning points in your life, it’s completely natural, and maybe expected, to reflect on where you’ve been and where you’re going. I’ve been doing a lot of reflection lately. Partially because of an unexpected promotion at work, which has more-or-less changed the trajectory of my career path, and partially because of a little thing called Facebook.

Facebook is largely generational. When I was in college, it was just starting out. At that point, it even required a college email address. It was for college students to connect with fellow college students. A sort of year book and who’s who of your classmates. I can remember sitting in a computer lab at the University of West Georgia and creating my account. I remember scrolling through the profiles of my college classmates, and the joy I felt when I first saw the accounts of old high school friends.

After a couple of years, it became apparent to me that facebook was a lot like high school in a lot of ways. Your online worth was measured by the number of friends you had; the number of times someone wrote on your wall, or liked your status. It was all a popularity contest, and for the longest time, I struggled with the same feelings that overwhelmed me in high school.

Will they like me? Why didn’t so-and-so “friend” me? Why does she have so many friends, and I only have a handful? What am I doing wrong?

The insecurities ate away at me as they had done so many years ago. I suddenly felt like I was sitting alone in the cafeteria or walking to class by myself or fading into the background…again. You hear a lot about the good times people have in high school. I’ve heard people I know say it: “I wish we could back to those good old days. Things were so much easier back then.”

But is high school ever really easy for anybody? Am I the only person who would loathe going back to that awkward, lonely time? I know the answer to both of those questions is probably “no.” I wonder then why things like high school and Facebook come so easy to some and so hard for others?

I’ve long since stopped measuring my worth by the number of friends I possess on some website or even the number of acquaintances I have in real life. I know the people whom I can call genuine friends, and I know I can probably count those people on both hands. To me, that makes me lucky.

Sure, the insecure teenager of my past would look at things differently, but any day of the week, I would rather have a handful of real, authentic friendships than all the Facebook “friends” and “likes” money can buy. I’d rather sit in the cafeteria with my four true-blue friends at the “loser’s table,” all of us knowing full well that our best days are ahead of us, than sit at that popular table where social status is the measure of our worth.

Looking ahead, it’s easy to sometimes look back. I look back on the years I spent in high school and those when I was less secure and less proud of the woman I am with not regret or sadness but with a sense of appreciation. Appreciation of lessons learned and prayers unanswered. Appreciation that I do not look back on the best years of my life but am always able to look ahead to days that grow brighter with each passing year. 

Lunchroom Musings, or Pizza & Corn

I spent two days this week going into local lunchrooms for college recruitment. As an admissions counselor, lunchroom visits are one of my favorite types of recruitment. While some recruitment events may be a little on the boring side, going into a high school lunchroom and observing teenagers in their natural habitats is always entertaining!

What I wouldn't give to bring back those days of culinary perfection!

I wish I could say that I was an impartial observer in this venture. But alas, I was once a teenager, too, and my own experiences have probably colored my impressions. What follows is an attempt to document my observations of the creatures and goings-on of this unnaturally natural high school setting.

I'll start with the "teacher table." The head honcho, the big cheese, the leader of the pack, the princiPAL sits in the middle or at the head of the table. You can tell it's him or her by the way he or she sits. Confidently. The "I am a Leader" pose. He or she demands respect. A born school administrator. I imagine that as a child, this individual was always "Mother" in Mother-May-I. The male version of this rare species sits with his elbows slightly propped on the table beside his tray. He reminds me of a lion hovering over a kill. His eyes constantly dart up from the food in front of him, taking in his surroundings with a keen knowing and understanding. It's almost like he's waiting for something, for a food fight to break out or for a troublemaker to slip up. He's on the edge of his seat and ready to pounce on the next kid who jumps out of line.

The female principal is a little less predatory. She is equally confident, but perhaps a tad more discreet. Her confidence permeates not from her pose or the way she moves but from somewhere within. She is secure and eats her lunch assuredly. She is in no hurry and has no concerns. Her students will stay in line, or they will pay the price. They know that, and she knows that, so she doesn't worry about constantly watching them. If something happens, she'll handle it when it does.

The teachers around them enjoy their lunches and the chance to socialize. In a way, they've become their own clique. Chatting and enjoying each other's company. Adding to the din of the cafeteria. And boy, is there a din!