We Were Girls Together

...and even though we're all in different places now, I'll do my best to root for whoever you become.

The last few months of my life have been...weird, to say the least. I'm still adjusting to being in my thirties. It feels like 2010 was five years ago. Am I alone in that feeling? I firmly believe my "Early 2000's playlist" is one of the few things still relevant in the present moment. 

Don't be gentle with me- I'm probably wrong. Case in point? I pulled a pretty, accessible arrangement of "Breakaway" by Kelly Clarkson for my youngest choir last month. I remember singing this out the car windows in junior high with some of my favorite people at that time. My best friends.

My jaw dropped when only two students recognized the song. "Oh! I know this song from TikTok...I think?" a third student (out of 32 in the room) raised their hand to tell me. This was humbling. While I happily continue to blast my workout playlist solely from this decade whenever I feel like it, I did not have the gull to tell those students that I found this song on a TV channel dedicated solely to music videos. That would be too embarrassing. 

A month prior, we were on a crowded field trip for a local news station to carol for the community. We were in a heated tent, going on hour three of entertainment. What a wonderful, completely relevant time for one of my students to speak up, mere minutes before our next thirty second block of music: "Miss Miller, why don't you have kids? Do you think you're too old at this point?"  Luckily, the question did not require much of an answer, as we got the cue to resume filming.

Anyone who works with children knows that they are capable of saying  and doing some irrelevant, off-the-wall things. For example, I recently had a student show me thirty sugar packets they hoard in their choir folder as they updated me on their singing lessons. However, the comment about kids felt a bit different. Ironically, a week before the field trip, I exited my doctor's office with a lavender sticky note in hand. The name of a specialist who could give me the answer to the latter of that student's questions (not in front of a camera, and likely with medical reasoning behind it) was written in rushed handwriting. It was brought up at my appointment, so I took the information. The idea that I would even seek or need such a thing is a foreign concept I am still attempting to grasp.

Didn't I just graduate college? People still use Facebook, right? Is Pitbull still making music? How did I, and all the people I grew up with, get to our thirties already?

Things move faster than ever, it seems. I cannot decide if it is because I am at an age to recognize it all, or if it is just the way the world moves once you are an adult. Could it be a mix of both things? Or...maybe it feels this way as I watch everyone else run their marathon. 

I'm really trying my best to not be cheesy here. But here's the thing: we're all running a race. Throughout, there will be delayed starts, different paths, breaks, and everything else in between. For parts of the race, I will be joined by people that will shape my life, although they won't always complete the same path as me. Here's the less "cutesy" part: the finish line, for each and every one of us, is death. Yeah, not the optimistic, feel-good lyrics included in "Breakaway," but I feel it's important to share that point to give a relevant factor that plays into the marathon theory. The destination, no matter how we get there, is the exact same for each and every one of us.

I've been in comparison mode for most of my life. I think that this is typical of millennials, as we are the first generation to truly watch our peers grow into adulthood and beyond like never before, thanks to social media. This past Christmas,  shiny photos of matching pajamas and carefully-curated holiday cards filled my phone screen on many days I would open certain apps. My parents never had access to their classmates they lost contact with in the way that I do now. In 2024, I can "see" someone I haven't actually encountered since second grade and all their accomplishments in one quick swipe of my phone screen. Isn't it weird to think about?

I have wondered for the past few years if I needed or deserved to send out a holiday card. There was no big update on my end this year, and I don't have a family of my own. Shortly after the new year, I realized that I am sent cards in the first place because people care about me as I am. So, this year, I will send out holiday cards regardless of my situation (be prepared, as they will likely involve glitter). Let me also take this time to say I am grateful for every card I get this time of year. I get to see friends and family with an accompanying snapshot of some of their best moments that year. It is underrated, and pretty awesome. 

The friends that sent me holiday cards this year are all in different places, both literally and figuratively. Out of state and down the street. Done having kids and just started. Two jobs and back in college. A season of travel or a season of making a new house a home. I could keep going, but if the whole point of me writing this is to stop keeping score, I feel it isn't productive.

When my mind goes to comparison among my peers from school and even my friends, I try to remind myself that the timing of our marathon varies. When that doesn't work, I remember that we were young together. We made choreographed dances in our living rooms, filling a house with laughter. We were placed in the same same yearbook class, and still recall to this day a fall I took in front of everyone. We took long drives with new licenses, in the slow crawl of summer. We cried over boys and endings, silly movies and loss. We shared so much together. Even though we collectively experienced so much at that time, we're literally in every different situation you could think of in this present moment. I want to see them win, even if we don't share much now. I know they cheer for me, too. 

Back in the present, I do not know what I want do do with the lavender post-it, but I am thankful I have the option. I also do not know where I will be in the next few years- maybe that is one thing I have in common with those people I mentioned above. I take comfort in knowing my experience prior to becoming a 30-something was filled with so much love from those around me at that time. If they're no longer in my story, I understand it's part of their marathon. And I want them to know that I'm alongside them in another direction, hoping we all accomplish our greatest desires. It's all relevant, it still matters- and if you're reading this still, it could be your sign to stop the comparison game, too.