Today I spent some considerable time reminiscing about my years in Arkansas. High school holds an uncharacteristically warm place in my thoughts. Many of my college friends shudder when they think back to high school - stupid decisions, shallow friends, missed opportunities. I, on the other hand, can’t think about those days without getting a little sentimental.
I always say senior year was my favorite. I was forensics president, choir vice president, friends with so many people and at the same time, I had the closest group of girls I’d ever known. I spent each morning at the coffee shop I worked in. Because of my senior status, I was exempt from one class, so I chose first period. I’d drop my brother off, pick up my friend Cate and head to the cute, old Pontiac dealership-turned-coffee-house. Though Cate and I had just met in August of that year, a strange, close relationship had been cultivated in a short time. We read the Bible together and talked about what we loved, what we questioned. Since that year, I've never felt more at home than around a table with a hot drink in my hand. Even couches make me uncomfortable sometimes.
Throughout that year, I experienced some of the best pictures of friendship. Cate, a gift in a year void of close friends, came at the perfect time. As she and I developed a friendship, we found ourselves surrounded by other incredible people. What came to be known as The Lunch Table also became a unique blend of girls and guys who all seemed to share the love of lunch and the arts. These friends joined in a year of opportunities and firsts. We went to Forensic competitions all over the state. We dressed as 80’s rockers for the winter dance, with no one pairing up. There were concerts and musicals, karaoke nights at Pontiac, and even beauty pageants for a few of us. It was such a joyful, good year.
And then came graduation. It seemed too sad, like it shouldn't have been this hard to go onto better things. It just didn’t feel better. Cate and Allison were heading to Texas, many were spreading out in Arkansas and I was moving all the way up to Indiana. Surely, this wouldn’t be the end of this Lunch Table group. Still, it felt unbelievably bittersweet as I drove up north.
My first year of college was a dismal one, partially because of my unfair expectations of friendships. I wanted to duplicate my high school experience, and I wanted the kind of immediate closeness that came senior year. When it didn't happen that way, I found myself retreating into my books. I was an excellent student that year, but I didn't have a single close friend. Why was it so hard?
Even now, six years after the Lunch Table, I find myself missing that little community. I have since met incredible people and formed beautiful, godly friendships. The idea of friendship has never been a small one. I feel like friendship is such a fragile and vital part of life, but it sometimes seems complicated. I’ve never been content with shallow friendships, almost to a fault. At times, when I’ve grown impatient with the nature of a certain relationship, I've noticed I just distance myself from that person. It’s not especially mature or hopeful, but like I said, once you've had a taste of deep, genuine back-and-forths, it’s hard to settle for small talk. This is not to say I don’t enjoy surface-level conversations. There’s a time and place for that. But if a friendship stays there, is it really a friendship?
I watched the movie Into the Wild last night, and the character Alexander Supertramp made me so sad. If you’ve read the book or seen the film, you know that this bright college graduate heads out into independence and adventure. At one point in the story, he remarks that human relationships are not the only place to find contentment. I audibly responded with a “What?!” and sat up a little straighter.
Throughout the movie, Alex wanders from state to state, meeting different people and giving voice to his great distaste for societal expectations. You see this contradiction within him - he wants to be alone and free from constraining relationships, yet he connects with people in powerful ways. In the end, he comes to the realization that happiness is only real when it’s shared. Sadly, he learns this truth when it’s too late. Be prepared - it’s an introspective and sad story, if you haven’t experienced it yet.
I’m not worried about abandoning my family, friends and society in pursuit of what’s real. That’s not really me. Where I do find caution, though, is in my pursuit of other things. I often find myself in very comfortable, settled seasons of selfishness. Each January, my hand writes down resolutions and goals for putting others first. Somewhere around late January, I seem to grow impatient with myself and throw those good intentions out. I chalk it up to my “sin nature” or my “strong personality”. Pretty soon, I finding myself too tired to meet with that friend or too busy to invite that couple over for dinner. After long days, all I want to do is have time to myself.
When I’m honest with myself, I know relationships are truly the most beautiful and important part of life. I’m frustrated, even as I write this, about how I’ve let insecurities and pride get in the way of these friendships.
As the days approach July, I feel drawn to making these days more specifically about others and about relationships. We’re already halfway through the year and halfway through the summer, yet I feel like I've wasted a lot of that time. I don’t know if the answer’s in setting goals and posting them around the house or making a list of people I want to spend time with. I feel a little lost for practical application right now. All I know is I want change.