"There's more to life than being cool, athletic, and popular"-The Wonder Years

"There's a lot of pressure in high school--you know? Like--lots of stress. If I said let's each name the 20 most popular people, from high school, we'd probably rattle off a majority of the same names, but they were popular, only because they were given that role. They probably didn't ask for it, we just held them up on a pedestal."

A good friend of mine, who I recently became reconnected to, via a five year high school reunion, said this to me during the afternoon portion of the party. Looking back--he's right. We all cared so much what people thought of us, and once we reached a certain status, we stressed about about maintaining that status--rather than just enjoying the ride, for ourselves.

The truth is, that being cool--athletic--and popular--aka fitting a stereotype--only matters for such a short period of life--barely even 1/25 of it. But we make that stereotype that people create for us, for such a short period of time, into such a big thing--something nearly consumes us. We think that if we are athletic--we will automatically be popular. We think that if we are the cool kid, more things will come easily to us.

So...it's five years later. Does any of that stuff matter?

Here's my answer:

No. We don't have the pressure now.--There's no "most popular" in the real world. If someone likes you--they like you. If they don't, they don't--and you just move onto the next one. There's no superlatives in life. Your status isn't being voted on and stamped into a yearbook forever. Five years ago, we focused way too much on who we believed would be the "most successful" instead of asking ourselves what would make us each individually feel successful--instead of worrying about the one person who mattered: ourself. Who's to say that someone who is happy with three children and a husband isn't just as successful--or even more successful than the head of multi-million dollar cooperation. No one.

At the end of the day, it's time to forget the stereotypes--it's time to forget the outside vote; join the independent party--the "me" party...and just live life so at the end of the day the only vote you are casting is on yourself and your own happiness and your own success.

A little voice inside my head said: Don't look back--You can NEVER look back

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I refuse to sit backwards on a train unless I absolutely have to. I have always said that this would be the perfect character detail---the perfect architecture for the personality construction of someone who is stuck in the past—who can’t see tomorrow or even the present. All that is on his or her mind is yesterday, or the day before that—the mistakes made that are long past, the regrets, the moments that have already gone by.

I like to think of myself as someone who will always sit looking forward on a train, because I am always thinking of the next step, the next place, and the next goal I can set for myself—another deadline—another dream.

So when I look back, I try to make it on very prime moments in my life—very proud moments.

A lot of people might say their proudest moment was the day that he or she got accepted in to college—or the day they graduated college. Someone might say that it was the moment they hit their first homerun on the baseball field, or drew their first accepted museum piece. Another person might say it was in making their loved ones smile. But when I do look back, and see these things—these achievements, none of them are the ones I want to say are my proudest moments. Even being given the opportunity and being asked to play for a division one field hockey team doesn’t rank on the top of my list, despite the hard work and effort – and money for camps and equipment – that contributed to that achievement.

No. My proudest moment was nearly two years ago, when I finished the Lehigh Valley Half Marathon, after four months of intense training. It was the moment that I fell to the feet of one of my high school teachers and said “I did it.” It was in the moment that I thought I couldn’t take anymore pain—that I would have to cut off my legs—that I would never walk anymore. It was in the moment that I accomplished something I had once said I would never even attempt. It was in the moment that I came back from my runner’s high and realized what I had just done. It was in that moment, that my heart pounded heavily, and that I truly felt on top of the world. It was in that moment, that I found the most pride in my life.

It’s hard to believe that was two years ago. It’s hard to believe that a moment in two years hasn’t topped that. So as I look back and smile over a proud moment—over a moment of ecstasy, I turn myself around on the train, and I begin to look forward again, I remind myself to set new unrealistic goals—new unrealistic dreams—and make them real…make them something I never would have believed I could do—make them my next proudest moment.

What’s your proudest moment? What’s your next proudest moment?

"These tears are just a disguise for happiness"

His story lingers in my mind, his tears the dessert to our meal that had just ended. His words echo. His story is strong…his tears are stronger—they are for joy, not sadness. His tears are for the past, the future, and the present. And just a week ago he was a stranger to me, to all of us here in Italy. Just a week ago, I would have never known him, or this story, the one of the love he had for his grandfather, the one of the last record he played by his grandfather’s bedside, the one of strength and what it truly means.

Strength in tears.

As I sat and watched my new friend shed tears about the past, over a final glass of wine with six of us sitting at the table, I thought to myself, how strong of a person to let the tears just roll out, to just let us all the way in, to let us learn a bit more about him and his past—to let us know him.

I often cry, but most times the tears are hidden in embarrassment, because they tend to be tears for nothing, sadness, or emptiness. But I realized recently how much I actually enjoy crying, letting it all just flow out, letting the droplets just drip down my cheek.

My friend Hannah has pointed out the importance of gaping wallows in the past, and it is in this moment, at dinner, that I see the gaping wallow in progress. Though his stream of tears doesn’t fill the restaurant like a bathtub, it does offer a release, an escape. It is in these moments that I realize the importance of our tears and the importance of sharing those tears with or without stories. It is in this moment I realize the importance of letting people in—the importance of letting ourselves out.