I am not close with my family. That is an understatement, to say the least. I have always had great resentment, deep sadness, and a horrifically mortifying view on and relationship with that which is familial to me. This is not new nor developed with age, and since the time I was very young I made every effort to reach outside of what I was born into and grow roots among friends instead. When I was a young adolescent, I practically lived at my friend Sarah's house. I will always been grateful to her and her family for letting me live with them without questioning the whereabouts (or wherewithal) of the woman who was supposed to be rearing me.
When I went to college, things changes because the roots that I had put down among strangers were pulled up and essentially wrapped around myself. I became my own greatest resource of strength and resolve. I studied, loved, worked, worked some more, and paid my own way through burgeoning adulthood. There were of course, hardships through which I had a hard time and never thought I'd see the end of (mostly financially), but I did and for the most part they passed. I remained pretty good friends with Sarah but because my own trajectory of independence was so ferocious and we were, in effect, moving through life at such radically different paces, our friendship changed to a more superficial, but enduringly loving one.
When I concluded my collegiate studies and moved to San Francisco, I became good friends with Conor, and we laughed and talked and made trouble and I truly had an intellectual match in him. We danced the night away for years and spent many nights with our faces close together, whispering compliments back and forth. He is still one of my best friends, and any divergence we have had is because in my old age of 26 I am settling down and Conor is always getting started on his next big adventure. I owe my much of my adult tastes to him and from him learned to never settle for a substandard life (You should see him turn down not-quite-right clothes or shoes that his mother buys for him - it is hilarious and totally copacetic).
Now that I am no longer dancing the night away in the clubs and I prefer to spend quiet time with my boyfriend and our adorable pooch, I have been in quite the friends rut. It feels like there isn't another 26-year old on the planet who can be intellectual, mature, and fun at the same time. This does not preclude drinking and clubbing of course (I am still a party girl at heart, after all) but it does mean a little more balance of game nights and conversation and wine instead of pre-party shots and trying to avoid roofies once out. It seems like a strange time and I have missed having as much friend action as I'd like.
Last night my friends Kevin and Lisa (and Lola) joined Scott and me (and Bailey) for an afternoon-play-date-turned-night-of-drinking-and-scrabble. Lisa and I polished off a bottle of whiskey. I was quite proud of us. Besides just having an awesome time, I truly, truly adore Kevin and Lisa. They are both smart, funny, interesting and interested people. I am so glad that they moved here and we have gotten to know one another as adults (as opposed to teenagers in science and general PE, respectively). We all have some pretty cool (and important) things in common that I don't have with other friends: books, music, movies. I look forward to much soul-feeding with them in the future.
Friends are so integral to who I am as a person. It's hard to properly thank people who have so ultimately touched me simply by being my friend. I don't want to get sappy, but I do hope that I am, at least, returning the favor.
I just spent the past 20 minutes reading your blog and came to this post.
ReplyDeleteYou made my heart melt.
We love you three so much and I am so, so happy that we've reconnected this past year.
To many more late evenings of guess-the-age-of-the-old-actors game which Scott and I seem to have mastered, downing bottles of Maker's Mark and Lola fake mounting Bailey. :)