Serendipity

I've been mulling over the passage of time and - I'll be honest - obsessing over the mulititude of things that have changed about me and my life over the years. I suppose this is an inevitable 'taking stock' that happens when you enter the middle years. And of course when you take stock of things, you inevitably visit the past...

I was raised in a very mobile family - we moved a lot... and I have to stress the term "A LOT": it was something like 30 times, if you count moving from "house" to "house". And if I sit and count the actual towns we lived in on my fingers, I run out of fingers fairly quickly. All that moving made making friends very difficult, and the few friends I did manage to make were often lost to yet another move. Staying in touch was difficult, onerous in those days of snail mail and party-lines.

When you grow up that way, you end up having many, many acquaintances, but few true friends. And until I went to college and met up with my beloved "chicks" (a story for another day), that is how it was.

I've often wondered what happened to a few of my friends from those days... but today's story centers on one friend in particular: his name was Allen. In high school, I remember spending lunches and spares eating really awful fries and even worse gravy while laughing and joking with a small group of kids. Allen was one of that group. He had a very quick wit and was a lot of fun to be around.

One memory in particular sticks with me - I remember that Allen often wore cozy, velour pullovers during the winter, and a couple of us girls would stroke the arm of his shirt, and make a big fuss over how soft it felt. (Hey, it was the 70's... we had all spent far too many years wearing gaberdeen pant suits that were stitched together by our mothers and our aunts. That kind of fashion torture does things to your mind.) Allen was by no means a stupid lad, and quickly began trying to figure out how to get himself a pair of velour slacks.

We lost touch after high school, but as years went by, I'd often wondered where the winds of fate had taken him, hoping they'd been kind.

Then the other day, serendipity... Allen contacted me via Facebook, just to say hello. I was thrown for a moment as I absorbed the fact that the cheeky, irreverant, tow-headed teenager I remember had become a minister (!), but I quickly realized that Allen wasn't much different than he'd been in school. Funny, smart, relaxed... just Allen.

Then it hit me... I'm not that different from the "high school me" either. I still enjoy a good laugh, like being part of a group, love all things creative or artistic, get totally lost in a good book... I worry a bit too much... can't stay organized or on task to save my life... I have way too much hair (it's a lot "lighter" than it used to be, mind you). I haven't changed much at all.

I read somewhere recently of a woman who stated her age as 22... with 25 years of experience... and that sums up precisely how I feel. I am still exactly the same person I've always been, just nicely mellowed by my years of experience.

What a relief to realize that! Now I can relax and stop obsessing over the "lies" a piece of reflective glass has been whispering in my ear!