I saw one of those cheesy Instagram quotes recently—you know, the ones with the cloud backgrounds and the comic sans font. It said, “When you watch a sunset you never critique it, you just appreciate its beauty and that’s how we should treat people.” Normally I scroll past stuff like this, chuckling a little, but I’ve been lingering on this sentiment ever since. What an entirely freeing idea that you can accept someone for exactly who they are without looking for ways they could change.
I have had many friendships end for various reasons, but what it always boiled down too was that we were two entirely different people trying to be more similar. It was like constantly trying to shove a circle into a triangle shape hole: disappointing and relentless.
My first friend was blonde with blue eyes. We would play house, climb my tree outside after school, and go to the beach together in summer. You never forget your first friendship or how it ended. When we got to middle school, she didn’t talk to me, but every day I would take my PB and J down to the tree she and her other friends sat at. I would eat while conversations happened all around me—but never with me.
My best friend in high school could not have been more different from me, the typical popular kid, played sports and didn’t care about school. I liked that he was different, so I ignored him when he chose to hang out with other people or blow off studying at Starbucks. I kept pushing because I cared about him and didn’t want to lose him.
What that silly Instagram quote made me realize was that all my failed friendships weren’t the fault of anyone. I loved the way their sunset looked with its potent orange and sparse clouds, so much so I disregarded the way it hurt me. It was not that they themselves were bad people; in fact, I still believe they have the potential to be some of the best. It was the fact that we were different. Maybe I was never supposed to experience them for more than an afternoon, but I was so entranced by their beauty I stared as long as I could.
Now the people I have in my life are equally as beautiful, and I could go on for hours about how beautiful each individual person is and why I chose their sunset. But what’s even more important is that I don’t have anything I would change about their sunset. Liking them for exactly who they are means we can experience each other for more than the brief second of green light at the end of a sunset.
Sometimes I wish I could go back in time and talk to the girl sitting under the tree with her PB and J or help the girl sitting alone in Starbucks perpetually waiting so she could avoid the hurt that came from gripping onto hope for so long. But even though those feelings slip through my fingers, I can’t deny I am lucky to have had those moments. I just didn’t realize that our differences made it nearly impossible to be close. More than anything, I wish I could show my past selves that it’s okay to enjoy someone from afar instead of getting too close to the sun.
It has been extremely valuable for me to learn to accept people for exactly who they are, orange, clouds, and all, but I have also learned not everyone is for me. Instead of asking them to change for me, or me changing for them, I have learned to seize that green light moment, for all it is, and then let go.
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