I’ve not always been the best friend. I’ve hurt. And I’ve been hurt. I’ve moved away. I’ve been deserted. After Scoot and I became serious during my junior year of high school, I – intentionally or not – swore off trying very hard at friendship. What was the point?
The girls who were my age were trying to get as far away from their parents as possible while I was devoting my entire being to keeping alive my long-distance relationship with Scoot, whose mom lives just two miles from my own. They were planning for their post-college travels around the world while I was planning my wedding in our hometown. They were renting apartments with roommates in Los Angeles and New York and San Francisco while I took out a mortgage on a home in the suburbs with room for a nursery for my young son. I had a very hard time relating.
Women who were in a similar life stage to me were planning their weddings while shuffling their meeting schedules at work. They were spending $1600 a month on nannies while I was making grocery shopping lists to include ramen, Hamburger Helper and macaroni and cheese so I could afford the $200 per week I had to spend on daycare. And at work, when I sat down for my annual review, it was they who would evaluate me on my performance throughout the prior year. I had a very hard time relating.
Recently, in large part because of what I discovered when I was introduced to the world of online social networks, I have established friendships. With genuine friends. The kind with whom I can gossip about that girl. The kind with whom I can lament about my day. The kind with whom I can share my frustrations and fears and tears and hopes. The kind with whom I laugh. And laugh. And text. And laugh.
In return, they’ve shared their loves, their losses, their triumphs, their sorrows. I hear about what they ate for breakfast and minutes later, the one thing they want their kids to know about them if they meet their end prematurely. I hear about the guy who tried to talk to them when they’re happily married. I get advice about health matters. I advise them on their resumes. I get drunk texts. With pictures!
I’ve been kept company in the hospital for 48 hours through a small device that meant constant conversation. I’ve watched a minor illness turn into a major health problem. With IVs. And surgeries. And tests. And uncertainty. I’ve seen pregnancy test strips and ultrasounds and newly born babies and crawling toddlers. I’ve celebrated romance and birthdays and New Year’s Eve and just because. I’ve watched them jump out of airplanes, and jump into love. I’ve watched doubt and despair and divorce. I’ve seen them hurt and healed.
I’ve felt. I’ve felt friendship. I’ve felt all that it can be. I’ve felt all that I missed during that decade or so when I just didn’t feel like I could relate to my peers.
Don’t get me wrong, I’ve had my fears that I’ve deluded myself. Certainly the friend ending her relationship, that was never married, that makes more than I do, that makes less than me, that! has! nothing! but! girls! …certainly we will find something that divides us. And yet, thankfully, they’re still here. I’m still here, a believer in friendship.
I’m about to head out on a weekend away with one of my dearest friends with our four!!! boys all under the age of 9 (unfortunately, Bop can’t make it because of school). I’m looking forward to it for selfish reasons, and not so selfish ones. And when I come back I have another friend coming to visit, one who just moved to the area and who I hope to see much more often. And six weeks from now I’ll be celebrating yet another’s birthday with friends from around the country.
Ends up, I’m kind of digging this friend thing. And as simple and easy as that sounds, I have a very hard time explaining just how happy it makes me and how sincerely appreciative I am to be able to say it.
