I wanted so badly to be friends with the popular girls.There were four of them. C had been my best friend in second grade, and we’d been close until fifth grade, when L moved to town. L was rumored to have been a child model, and despite her braces, she was beautiful and exotic. J moved next door to L the summer before sixth grade, and somehow her giant red-rimmed glasses made her cool. The fourth girl, A, was the first (though sadly, not the last) frenemy I had. She even created a We Hate Photo club in the third grade. Those four girls became a close-knit group – some would call it a clique – in sixth grade.
And I wanted to be a part of that group. I didn’t understand how it is. Not yet. So I tried hard to be their friend, to wedge myself into their circle, to reclaim the friendships I’d had before everything got so confusing, so middle school-ish.
At the same time, my friend Elizabeth was just about the most fun person I knew. She could rat her bangs up higher than anyone else in our whole school, and she was a brilliant dancer. (Okay, so I may not have known she was brilliant back then, but I’ve seen her perform since then, and believe me, she was gooood.) She had the tendency to be a bit hyper, and for some reason we called her Lizzie and sometimes even…Lizard Lips.
I don’t know, people. It was middle school.
Anyway, Elizabeth and I shared a lot of good times, whispering and giggling about boys, passing notes, having slumber parties. But when her parents divorced and I learned she was moving away with her mom, I experienced a moment of clarity. And regret.
I realized what I’d done, and it was ugly. I’d spent so much time and energy focused on those popular girls (Do they like me today? I can’t believe they all gave me “hate” letters on the same day! Are they going to the dance? Can I sit with them at lunch?) that I’d wasted the last precious days with my good, true friend, Elizabeth.
Now, we still had some good times. We had more slumber parties and letters and phone calls. But while I could have been cherishing my time with a dear friend, I threw my heart into friendships that were no more real than the romance novels I snuck out of the library.
Elizabeth never said a word about this to me. She never pointed out that it was pointless and even hurtful to worry so much about girls who treated me badly when she was right there all along. And even though we lost touch after high school (Elizabeth moved back to our town before we graduated), it was so fun to get an e-mail from her last year after our reunion. I could actually hear her voice in all the exclamation points and the way she signed off “Love, Liz.”
So today – on Lizzie’s birthday – I want to wish her a happy, happy day! I am thankful for the years we spent as BFFs and I still love her like a sister (LHLAS isn’t nearly as catchy as LYLAS).
Remembering those middle school days, I can’t help but think of how I do the same thing to God that I did to my friend. Even though I know He’s there and loves me for me, for real, I keep looking to others for approval. (Did my boss like that report? Does my husband think I’m pretty? Do my readers think I’m funny?) Interesting how I ignore the real things in pursuit of the artificial. I’d like to think I only had to learn that lesson once. But now that I think about it, maybe I’m still learning.
What about you? Do you find yourself looking for love in all the wrong places?
