Seventh grade was my last year in a traditional classroom until college. I was a skeletally-thin dweeb, tied with the valedictorian for a 98.6 grade point average. I said a lot of stupid stuff and became the brunt of ninth and tenth graders’ jokes—so much so that a concerned classmate told the principal about it. I think my P.E. teacher may have even addressed it in front of the whole class. (In case you’re wondering, that only made me feel more embarrassed.)
I remember Mike and Charlie starting a Ryan George “fan club.” Joining it meant you’d get certain virtual perks, all of which were infamous aspects or artifacts of me. I don’t remember the list now, but I remember one of the items was a pair of my gym shoes. My grandma had bought them for me at Ames. They were called Pro Wings—so generic, I couldn’t find them on Google Images.
This all came back to me, listening to McLemore’s anti-basketball-shoe-culture song, “Wing$.” Two lines reverberated from each spin: “You get clowned for those ProWings with the Velcro. Those were not tight.” McLemore probably meant the Adidas Pro Wings and not my generic white high tops. But the effect was the same. It reminded me that I wasn’t one of the cool kids.
I’m probably still not—24 years later. I drive a 10-year-old car to the YMCA basketball court three mornings a week, where I change from Crocs into $39.99 basketball kicks. I’ve been playing basketball now for 6 years; and I’m still learning the rules, the lingo, and the instinctive moves. (Monday, I finally learned what a “seal” is.)
That seventh grader still owns real estate inside me. I can tell from my social media streams that a middle schooler is alive in many of us.
We have something to prove.
We say we have to prove it to ourselves, but then why do we need an audience? Affirmation. For some reason, our accomplishments don’t count until a valid voice or choir of voices tells us it does. It’s a phenomenon as old as the human race, though social media now gives us instant feedback.
Bing! [Like.] Bing! [Comment.] Chirp! [Retweet.] Heart! [Instalove.]
Yes! You are a loving, creative mom.
Yes! Your vacation spot looks exclusive and/or expensive.
Yes! You are an athlete—a workout warrior with admirable discipline.
Yes! You are a power broker, a mover-and-shaker, an influential professional.
Yes! Your religious piety is the real deal.
Yes! You are attractive or funny or both—a double threat.
Yes! You’re one of the cool kids! At least, you seem to have your crap together.
The sad part: that assurance doesn’t last. That sense of accomplishment fades, either from distraction or comparison. Social media accelerates that part of the attention curve now, too.
One of my favorite songs of 2014 was Andy Mineo’s “Neverland.” Part of his lyrics, applicable here:
“You know the rich and famous,
Kill themselves to stay rich and famous
Very same thing that they built their name with
Be the same thing that they be enslaved with”
Whether or not you’re rich or famous, it’s easy to fight our whole lives to be known, to be loved and respected, to win the praise of others. It’s natural to pursue the places we feel admired. We can become parities of ourselves.
That’s bigger than consumerism (which isn’t Nike’s fault, by the way). That’s bigger than the wounds from past decades. That’s a hole only God can fill. That’s an assurance only the person who made you can give. Jesus claimed that he came to earth to give us LIFE, and he said we gain that LIFE when we let go of ours.
That means heaven doesn’t care if I’m parking cars at church at 6:00 on a Sunday morning, bungee jumping out of a glass cable car in New Zealand, driving an easily-identifiable sports car, or working from a 1,200-square-foot home office. At least, not if I’m not leveraging those experiences for eternity. My Klout score won’t matter when I’m dead and shouldn’t matter now. There will be no sash in the afterlife on which I can pin the badges I earned down here.
Jesus asked a tax collector to tell us, “For what will it profit a man if he gains the whole world and forfeits his soul? Or what shall a man give in return for his soul?” He also asked a rich dude to give everything he owned to the poor. The guy walked away.
I do, too, most days—with my And1’s in my duffle bag. Hopefully, those days are growing fewer and farther apart. My goal is to need the affirmation of others less and enjoy his presence and acceptance more.
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Stock image purchased from iStockPhoto.com
