I see the ones who crawl like moles
who for a front would trade their souls,
A broken mirror’s the only hole for them
And for you who’d exchange yourselves, just to be somebody else,
Pretending things you never felt or meant
Hey, You don’t live what you defend, you can’t give so you just bend.
Now if you care what people think, like they supplied some missing link;
They’ll just stand back and watch you sink so slow.
They’ll never help you to decide, they’ll only take you for a ride,
After which they’ll try and hide the fact that they don’t know
What you should do, where you should go,
What you should do, where you should go.
- from Rolling Home by Peter, Paul & Mary
When I was high school I had a very good friend, let’s call her “Sandy,” who was very well read, intelligent, witty and a striking conversationalist. Although I cared for and deeply respected this young woman, we never became romantically involved. I mention this because I want to ensure understanding as I recall this story and comment on its circumstance.
Sandy could discuss anything with an insight rivaled only by our learned high school faculty. So what happened? Somewhere between our junior and senior year, Sandy got silly. In what I remember as a fleeting moment, she was transformed from an urbane intellectual into a dingy, moronic teenage girl. She could no longer converse without giggling and any attempt to delve into any serious topic was countered with an “ohmygod” and something about the outfit she saw in a recent fashion magazine.
Suffice it to say, that Sandy was passing into womanhood in the only way she knew how: by imitating the “popular” girls. She was flirty and always going on about this guy or that guy. And sadly, the guys noticed. Funny they never noticed her before. It was as though she traded her intellectual soul for this superficiality. Holden Caufield would say she was “a phony.” And she was. I lost interest in Sandy and we soon drifted apart.
A few years later, on the day before her wedding, she visited me. The visit was cordial. We talked about trivial things and played “remember when.” Just as she left, Sandy gave me a card. In the card she talked about how much my friendship meant to her and wondered what would have happened if we’d ever “gotten together.” She said that she respected me because I was honest and above all else was true to myself.
It seemed obvious to me that although we never acknowledged what happened after her “social transformation,” she understood and at least in part, regretted it. Sandy didn’t like the person she was in high school. She was different and thought she was missing out on something. Maybe she was.
I’ve seen Sandy a couple of times over the years and we have never mentioned the card or discussed our past relationship. The past is past and we are two totally different people. Although we can be friendly, we are no longer friends. Sandy’s betrayal of herself cost her our friendship.
It’s sad the way our society fosters false expectations. The misguided thought that what other people think matters in the least, entices people to try to be someone they’re not. All in the name of acceptance or worse, vanity. I can think of no greater dishonesty than to lie to oneself. After all, is it better to be liked by many or respected by a few?
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