Old friends, risking rejection

I made an exciting discovery yesterday on FaceBook.  I found a woman who was in my class at senior school.

I absolutely worshipped her and her family.  I felt like the Dickens orphan standing in the freezing cold outside the pastry shop.

Worlds apart.  Thank god the antithesis to what I experienced actually existed.  Thank god I actually got to see it as a contrasting reality to mine.

I’ve often wondered what it would be like if I met any of the women who’d been in my class at high school.  There was a bunch who were bright and seemed enabled.  They had fun together, did well.  I wanted to be a part, but I was on the periphery and as incapable of being included as if I’d been in a prison cell with no door or window, and in manacles, a straightjacket.

Watching them all streak ahead of me, leaving me behind in the dust, that was very painful.

But I’m not in that place any more.  I think.  I hope.  I believe.  I sometimes believe.  On the spur of the moment I tried to message my friend and either my FB account is disabled or it’s just this computer.  Go figure.  So then I had time to think about it.  It’s hard not to compare myself with her.  Hard not to fear that she wouldn’t be interested in knowing me.  Why would she?  Then I became not so sure that I’ve really shifted enough to be interesting to anybody.

Hard to stay adult in my head and my heart.  It’s a classic story.

Wanting to be in the world and part of the human race after you’ve isolated yourself for a long time is one thing.  Doing it is another.  Risking rejection.

I’ll do it.


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