The Following, The Progress

This past weekend my roommate and I had our annual Swanky Christmas party (I wrote about it once). 2010 was my fourth year hosting one (Jane’s sixth) and putting it together has become a familiar process—decorations, lights, furniture movements, purchases and requisite cleaning—so the stress level has decreased dramatically, even as the cost has risen. We had time to reflect a little bit on the purpose of the event. Part of the fun of the party is dressing to the nines and having some of our dearest friends over to get ready together. I rarely dress to impress; it requires way too much time and energy and I don’t care enough about my appearance to do it except in rare instances. But once a year the Swanky party comes around and all is on the table. I love to see the dresses and tuxes that come through the door, as if my friends and I were all bringing our bests together; the Voltron of beauty. Often I feel for first-time attendees who, in the day and age of dress casual, don’t quite get the true concept of elegance attached to the party. They stand out and not in a good way. This year, I went for a dramatic look. I wore the shortest dress I’ve ever worn (or probably ever will wear), dramatic makeup, upswept hair and big eyelashes. In a way, I transformed and I felt abnormally good about it. I didn’t do it for anyone (there wasn’t anyone at the party I particularly wanted to impress or attract) but rather because I could. The experience of transformation was my favorite part; to feel progress as if I got prettier with each step. At the end I felt like I shined, a feeling I haven’t had all year.

(Told you it was short! Blue lips due to a ring pop)

I don’t get to feel progress much.

My essay that got me into Syracuse was about slugs; how when watched closely they seem to make no progress, but how, when left be, the distance they cover is remarkable. This was a year of slugs.

I’m finalizing my annual best and worst list and marveling at the changes that occurred. I’ve lost friendships and habits but gained even more in a way so slight I didn’t feel them occur. In January I hoped that sweetness would follow the darkness that colored much of the year. In December death has not yet let me be. But sweetness has, for the most part, followed.

Work in Progress

This afternoon I checked my email to find I had a new myspace comment from an old friend from college. He'd posted it at close to 3am, so I'm assuming (hoping?) he was drunk when he wrote it. The jist of the comment was, "Christian!? Not when you..." and it went on to list, in salacious detail, some of those things in my life that I am least proud of.
Things that also occurred, oh, 8 years ago.
I'm reeling, honestly. I kind of want to cry. I can't believe how much that has stung.
This is someone who I was close to the first two years of college, then we grew apart as our habits and circles of friends changed. We are myspace friends by approximation; it's not as if we've communicated in any detail in the past 6 years so this comment was not only unsolicited, it was out of left field.
I can't figure out where his anger comes from, to leave a comment like that. I don't know why my statement of Christianity was so offensive to him, he's normally a pretty chill guy. It's not like my myspace page has a large picture of Blond Swedish Jesus on it, with my hobbies being "the stations of the cross" and "judging sinners". It simply says, at the bottom, "Religion: Christian-other". Doesn't sound too holier-than-thou to me, Church Lady.

Here is the thing: I know what I've done; I don't have to be reminded. I haven't forgotten, and frankly I don't hide it or gloss over it, as most who've met me in the years since can attest. I am disconnected from it, however, because it was long ago and I've been changed out of that. I am different; that is not who I am. I am not the worst of me, just as I am not my greatest successes. This knowledge has cemented me today.

Needless to say I immediately deleted his comment; my little sister checks my page and that isn't something for anyone to read. I sent him a response that simply said, "What can I say? People change. Especially after 8 years have passed." Part of me wants to see healing in that friendship, as some is obviously needed but part of me says to leave it be. Some people cannot let others be anyone but who they were at a specific point in time.

After all this I did add something to my page:
"It is by the grace of God that I am a work in progress and my mistakes don't define me. Simple as that."

I have never been more thankful that such a statement is true.