Recently I was thinking of a dear friend of mine from high school. This friend's life has taken a dramatic and amazing turn and who doesn't hope that their friends are noticed and rewarded for their awesomeness? At the same time, in classic rags to riches fashion, I feel like I have lost a friend.
We weren't in contact very often. As we got older, our lives were quite separate, but I still felt like I knew my friend. I had changed, my friend had changed, but when I saw the paper scraps of our teenage selves left in my keeping, I felt a sense of continuity between then and now.
I don't know my friend now. Or rather I don't know how my friend became the person who made that last leap, that dramatic and amazing leap. I know how they got started. I saw some things get set aside and other things become all-encompassing. I wasn't sure we would be able to have conversations with any frequency if we lived near enough to meet at a coffeehouse. What would we have to say to each other now? What would we have in common? Still, underneath it were those high school dreams, banked perhaps but still glowing, they remained, right?
The glitz and the glamor and the showmanship, it's great for all the world to see, I admire the ability to do it and do it well. In fact, it's what I prefer. I don't want reality when it comes to entertainment. Give me the puff pieces of yesteryear when they shot through diffusion lenses and we never knew what was really going on behind the scenes. Except when it's my friend. When it's my friend and I'm standing in line like a groupie telling this handler and that "I really know them," I feel like a phony. Like my little scraps of paper mean nothing. Like I once knew a caterpillar but no matter how many chrysalis pieces I gather, I have no claim on this butterfly.