Hi friends! I just got back from my one-year anniversary trip on Friday, so forgive me for not writing in a while. Peter and I had a wonderful time exploring Venice, Verona, Cinque Terre, and Rome in Italy and Santorini in Greece. Glad to be back home though, especially with our fur baby!
First, thank you to everyone who read and reached out to me in response to my last post. After publishing it, I spent a good five minutes crying. I had determined that I was going to publish it, but that didn't make it any easier to do. Your support truly means everything to me. I'll be sure to keep you updated on how things are going in that department. And now onto the meat of this week's post...
Do you know someone who peaked in high school? I do. I was recently thinking about this because my ten-year high school reunion is coming up (boy, that ages me lol). And so begins the story of my high school crush whom I'll call Dylan. It's an embarrassing story that would totally happen in a teen movie and unfortunately happened to me in real life. Dylan was a popular jock - he played both football and lacrosse (both of which were popular at my high school). My crush on him was completely based on his looks (I have a thing for blondes apparently, and he fit the bill). After doing silly things like walking by his house once I discovered where he lived and memorizing his class schedule (I'm literally cringing as I recount this), I eventually friended him on Facebook and started messaging him. Looking back, I would've totally understood if he didn't bother to respond to me. After all, we had only exchanged two words with each other (both of which were "hey" after he found out about my crush on him and I got up the nerve to speak to him in passing). But he was pretty nice. A recent review of that message thread revealed that my last message to him was a question: "Have you told anyone about me?" He didn't respond to that, for which I'm grateful. I deleted that thread a few months ago.
Fast forward to a little less than a few months ago. I saw a Facebook message from Dylan waiting for me, which was weird, because I had unfriended him in college. It turns out he didn't say anything. He simply decided, after all of these years, to react to that last message of mine with a laughing face. The high school girl I once was felt dismayed, but she was quickly replaced by the woman I am now. I scoffed at that laughing face and thought, "What an idiot." I deleted the thread once again and moved on. Once upon a time, I would've given anything for Dylan to notice and acknowledge me. Now, knowing that our ten-year high school reunion is coming up and that there's a possibility of seeing him, he doesn't phase me in the slightest. I'm not the girl I was in high school anymore (And I thank God for that!).
There are people like Dylan who have it all in high school and seem to plateau afterwards. He went to college, but from what I've gathered, he's not quite the "cream of the crop" that he once was. People like me struggle to be noticed in high school. I started high school wearing glasses AND braces, both of which I finally got rid of in the middle of my sophomore year. I had a few close friends, but I wasn't nominated for a yearbook superlative or anything. However, people like me find themselves as adults, and that's when they discover how freaking awesome they are. And suddenly, those years in high school are forgotten and the future looks a whole lot brighter.
As a heterosexual woman, I've spent too much of my life determining my beauty based on what boys/men have said to me. I started shaving because of a boy. There was a kid on our dead-end street with an above-ground pool, and during the summer, he'd invite the other kids on the block to join him in it. While in the pool one day, he accidentally grazed my leg and told me I was hairy. I went home and asked my mom if I could shave my legs. Last week, I was wearing a dress, and after we left our Air Bnb, I noticed some stubble towards the bottom of my leg. I told Peter I'd forgotten to shave, then shrugged and said, "Oh well." I've struggled with acne all of my life (until recently, actually - my face is doing pretty well as of late), and I've heard a lot of negative comments about it, mostly from boys. Once, my natural instinct was to use cover-up to hide any signs of acne. Now, when a pimple appears, my natural instinct is to, well, do nothing about it. I let it be. As I mentioned in a previous post, I now have glasses that I think complement my face really well (Thank you, Peter!), and I still feel confident while wearing them, which is not something my younger self felt at all (it helps that I forgot my contacts on our trip and only had my glasses to wear lol).
At 28, I'm now at a point in my life where I determine my own beauty, no one else. Peter tells me I'm beautiful all the time (and he means it too), but that's not exactly enough, because I need to acknowledge that truth myself. It's more powerful when I can look in the mirror and say, "You are one beautiful specimen of a human being, Rach." I've been saying that a lot more lately. And I'm confident that I still have great days ahead of me.
My high school self is currently engaging in thunderous applause.
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