Old Friends, Identity
posted by Silvana
Last night I met up with a junior-high friend that I haven't seen since she moved away in 1994. That's right, fourteen years ago. I really haven't had the occasion to meet up with someone that I knew a long time ago, maybe ever. I'm not that great at keeping up with old friends, and I should really be better about it. I guess also I'm sometimes worried that if I meet a person I used to really like, they'll end up being lame and I'll be disappointed or disabused.
But it was incredibly fun. We sat in the restaurant for over three hours reminiscing, arguing, and laughing our asses off. It really was one of the best times I've had a while, perhaps because I didn't know what to expect. And as I drove home down Lake Shore Drive, I was contemplative. The whole evening she kept laughing at me and telling me how I was so exactly the same as she remembered and exactly how she pictured I'd be when i grew up. And that I hadn't changed a bit. Which is of course, not true--I've aged a lot, I've grown up, I look different, everything has changed except that I'm still loud and opinionated and idealistic. But the idea that there could be something fundamentally the same about 26-year-old-me and 13-year-old me was incredibly satisfying and comforting. I can't quite figure out why this is.
Perhaps it's the idea of some kind of personal essence. But I don't believe in souls. Yet I do believe in identity. I've had an experience like this before. When I was just starting law school, I went to visit my dad. I had relatively recently gotten out of a long and fairly problematic relationship, moved to a new city and made new friends and tried to change my life. And when I went through my old papers and momentos and letters from high school, I was shocked to find that I was the same, five or six years later, as I was then. I had been worried that the relationship I was in had fundamentally changed me somehow, that I had erased part of my identity, and that hadn't really happened at all.
I don't really have such fears now, but that feeling, that I had some kind of recognizable identity that was very plain to other people, an identity transcending incredible personal change and challenge, was surprisingly welcome.
I don't have any real understanding here. I just think it was an interesting response to a fairly pedestrian observation ("you haven't changed a bit!") and I'm wondering if other people have thoughts on why people say this, and why we're glad to hear it.
But it was incredibly fun. We sat in the restaurant for over three hours reminiscing, arguing, and laughing our asses off. It really was one of the best times I've had a while, perhaps because I didn't know what to expect. And as I drove home down Lake Shore Drive, I was contemplative. The whole evening she kept laughing at me and telling me how I was so exactly the same as she remembered and exactly how she pictured I'd be when i grew up. And that I hadn't changed a bit. Which is of course, not true--I've aged a lot, I've grown up, I look different, everything has changed except that I'm still loud and opinionated and idealistic. But the idea that there could be something fundamentally the same about 26-year-old-me and 13-year-old me was incredibly satisfying and comforting. I can't quite figure out why this is.
Perhaps it's the idea of some kind of personal essence. But I don't believe in souls. Yet I do believe in identity. I've had an experience like this before. When I was just starting law school, I went to visit my dad. I had relatively recently gotten out of a long and fairly problematic relationship, moved to a new city and made new friends and tried to change my life. And when I went through my old papers and momentos and letters from high school, I was shocked to find that I was the same, five or six years later, as I was then. I had been worried that the relationship I was in had fundamentally changed me somehow, that I had erased part of my identity, and that hadn't really happened at all.
I don't really have such fears now, but that feeling, that I had some kind of recognizable identity that was very plain to other people, an identity transcending incredible personal change and challenge, was surprisingly welcome.
I don't have any real understanding here. I just think it was an interesting response to a fairly pedestrian observation ("you haven't changed a bit!") and I'm wondering if other people have thoughts on why people say this, and why we're glad to hear it.
Labels: deep thoughts, friendship, m. leblanc
Posted at 11:24 AM
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