Yesterday I got a friend suggestion on Facebook.  The suggestion came from a grade school friend, Jason, who found me online a while back.  Since then he's found even more people from our school days, including two friends, Shannon and Kathi, that lived in my neighborhood.  Back in those days society was not quite so mobile, and most of us went to school together up through 11th grade when they opened the new high school and gave us the choice of staying at our original school (Carry On, Mesa High!) or staying in district and attending the new one (Boo Red Mountain.)

Anyway, Jason sent me this suggestion and she has a very unusual name so I recognized it right away and sent her a friend request.  Today I got an email back from her, asking who I was, as she didn't remember me.  Here's the reply I sent her:

Well, I've only known one <insert name here> in my life and we went to grade school together at Jefferson Elementary.  We were in kindergarden together I think.  Can't remember the teacher's name, but she got married part way through the year.  And then we were probably in 1st grade together too, in Mrs. Fuller's class.  Jason J. sent the suggestion, so I figured you were that person.  And I also figure I totally owe you an apology for pulling your hair on the playground.  :)

I really do owe her that apology.  I was so mean to her back then.  It was probably 2nd grade when I actually got a time-out at recess for mercilessly teasing her and pulling her hair.  I remember Mrs. Fuller (my 1st grade teacher,) walking by and seeing me sitting by the wall and saying incredulously "Lesley??  Why are YOU sitting out at recess?"  I told her I had been pulling the girl's hair.

Mrs. Fuller was dumbfounded.  I was the perfect child, perfect student, never in trouble.  "WHY???" she asked.

I shrugged my shoulders.  "I don't know."

I have actually thought about that incident over and over again throughout my life, and it's only now in the last few years that I've come to understand it.

I was mean to her because I felt bad about myself.

I was the ugly girl with fly-away hair and grades that were far too good.  I didn't believe in Santa and I didn't dance when the class did and I was required to wear dresses at least two days every week.  (Sorry, Mom & Dad.  I don't hold it against you; I'm just reporting the way it was.)

This girl, on the other hand, was required to wear dresses EVERY day.  And she had good grades too.  And I don't remember about the dancing, but she also didn't believe in Santa Clause.  And to top it all off, she had long hair which she sometimes wore down and straight and sometimes in braids and either way it made me so insanely jealous.  And so instead of finding her a kindred spirit, I did what people do when they don't like themselves:  they find someone else to take it out on.

I can see that so clearly now.  It wasn't that I hated her.  I hated myself.

I've grown up a lot since then.  I've learned to love who I am, even those parts of me that aren't so well liked by others.  I still have terrible hair, but thankfully "tousled" is an in-look these days.  I no longer care if people don't like what I believe in and I have no qualms on saying so.  I still don't dance, but it's because I have no ability, rather than no opportunity.  And now I choose to wear skirts almost every day.  Lol.  Funny how things change and still stay the same, isn't it?

And unfortunately, even as an adult, I've met people that are still stuck in second grade, still picking on the person that is too much like them for them to accept.  And until they recognize their own self-loathing, until they come to terms with who they are and either accept it or change it, until that time, they'll never be able to find friendship in the very people that are so much like themselves.

Time to grow up, my friend.  Life is too short to hate yourself.

... much to say, it's just that there isn't any way in which to say it.  Any good way, anyway.  I suppose some way is better than no way, but it's difficult to know which way is okay.

Sometimes life is glass water and silent paddles slicing j-strokes under perfect skies.  Serene, surreal... nothing can disturb the one piloting her canoe.

I just found a piece of plastic in my cleavage.

Which goes to my point that life as of recent has been unpredictable to say the least.  I have not been paddling through pristine waters.  Truth be told, it hasn't been smooth seas for a long time.  But as many folks are, I seem to be pretty good at covering that up.

When I was in highschool, I attended Awana Canadian Adventure, a fantastic camping experience that is no longer owned by Awana, but even if it were, there's never any going back.  You experience those intense highs in life and then they are put into your scrapbook and if you are lucky, they effect your life forever.

Our group, our little family for the week, called ourselves the Chatlain's Canoeing Crew.  Chatlain, because that was the name of our leaders.  Canoeing, because we seemed to canoe everywhere, even where we didn't need to.  Crew, because it is a synonym for group and it starts with a C and it didn't seem like the word "cult" would be a positive option.

One day we had been out for the afternoon, hiking to a waterfall, enjoying the outdoors.  By the time we headed back to base camp, the wind had picked up and the water was choppy.  My partner most of the week was Dan M.  I not only remember his last name, I can even spell it, and it's a tricky name, so that's something.  He was a decent paddler, but not the strongest, and I certainly was no champion at the task myself. 

So the waves began rising and the water was churning up white caps, and then the rain began.  Pounding rain on open water makes it difficult to navigate.  Rivulets streaming off your head, sharp points of rain pocking the surface of the lake until it is shattered glass incapable of seeing through.  We paddled fiercely, no conversation, eyes fixed on the shore that never seemed any closer, stroke after stroke, fighting off the water edging over the canoe and the hysteria creeping into our psyches.

We were 200 feet from the shore when someone sent a boat out for us.  They'd tie our canoe to the back and pull us in safely.

Dan said "No."

I was in the front of the canoe, unable to tell which were raindrops on my face and which were tears.

He said "No, we have to do this."

So we paddled.  The boat picked up two other couples and towed them in to safety.  We fought our way to the dock and tied up, exhausted, emotional, and victorious.

There have been many times in my life that I have remembered that day and remembered that lesson.  I found myself in a very similar setting once when I was the group leader and responsible for two teenagers in my canoe that was threatening to swamp at any moment.  "Dan and I made it to shore," I told myself.  "I can do this."

And now I look around and I see white caps and murky water and life churning around me, and it's scary.  Things that seem like they should be easy, aren't.  They never really are though.  I suppose I'm fooling myself to think that they ever were.  Meanwhile I struggle to stay upright, to face the challenge head on, to emerge from the other end, battle weary, but safely home.

The shore line is visible, but oh so far away.

   Today is my 18th wedding anniversary.