Why You Shouldn't Fear the Eyeballs of Your High School Classmates
Shirt by @MelonKelley
Thanks to social media, I know exactly what all my former high school classmates are doing and where and for how long and with whom.
I know who is in finance and who moved to California.
I know who has struggled to conceive and who has more kids than I have had papercuts.
I know who has transitioned into her true self from her previously not-as-true self
I know who has an ex-fiance and who has a party-planning side hustle.
I know who went into crypto or music or home-schooling or sourdough bread making (dare I repeat myself).
But even though I love to be in the know, I’m just a total Peeping Tammy.
I don’t post much about my own self or life partially due to a collection of “little t” traumas I had not planned to collect, and a very real fear of who is paying attention to me because I would like to be intently listened to but also fade into the sunset when you are not looking, okaythanksbye.
Will my boss think my pep talk articles with the occasional Fuck-word are a fireable offense?
Will my mom run into my kindergarten teacher at Marc’s who will compliment her on her daughter’s “cute writing thing” and I die of embarrassment?
Will my best friend from the 3rd grade read my writing and think I’m an endless well of blabbery?
Frankly maybe probably yes to all.
And also, no.
I scroll and I “like” and I sometimes even comment, but only and especially if it’s genuine yet unintentionally weird, like a grandma posting some version of the following on her grandson’s roommate’s Facebook page: “Congratulations, PJ, on your enviable swimsuit body! You look just like Derek from my church and he has a Peloton!”
I am an Enneagram 7 which means that I obviously believe in fairies and also have a lot of energy and I’d like to share it with you whether you like it or not.
I want to cheer you on forever and ever amen. I will listen to your debut album on Spotify and order the shirt you printed with that stamp you made with your hands and some tiny tools made for elves (How did she do it?? I still don’t know).
I love to see how and what all my former peers are doing, because damn, they are doing things. Life is happening to them and me and all of us and I am so energized by it.
I don’t care if it feels like I will maybe die if my Spanish teacher from the 8th grade follows me on Instagram or that guy I had a crush on in high school gets out of jail and tells me my blog inspired him to put himself first.
I can’t possibly fear the eyes of the people I went through death-defying trends with, like tanning and dipping our toes into Lake Erie.
I can’t be nervous or embarrassed or afraid of their knowing of my whole self, because I know how I feel when I see theirs. And I love it.
I love your blog about your private struggles with Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. It’s so real and human and helpful to other very real humans.
I love your murals and art shows in cities big and small.
I love your music. I listened to it the day you released it and I smiled so big for you.
I love that you left a career that felt constricting and chose something completely different and completely you.
I love that you enter local contests with the beer you brew. It looks freaking delicious (Please mail me some).
I love that your sweet family all wore matching Halloween costumes. Holy shit, that was adorable.
I love that you started a podcast. It made me feel much less like a weirdo for wanting more.
I love that you got really into soundbath healing and shaved half your head. You looked so free.
I love seeing all the races you run on the weekends and all the girls you inspire in the running club you lead. I may even take up running but also I won’t.
I hope you know deep down that your friends and long-lost peers are a mirror for the world and they are cheering you on. So post, or don’t post, about your beautiful ever-changing life.
But do live it knowing that many more people are cheering you on than are waiting for you to fall. How do I know? Because I’m one of them.
Yours electrified with awe,
Emily Rose // Miss Magnolia
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