The Art of Friendship

I dropped the kids at school this morning and, as I drove home, I pulled up at a stop light and saw a good friend stopped as well, heading in the opposite direction. We made eye contact and waved. Her kids then waved at me from the back seat and I waved back, imitating their crazy kid waves, and the light turned green and we went our separate ways. I was struck by how lucky I am to have moments like that, to see someone I've known for almost 25 years on my way home from school.

I've been thinking a lot about friendship lately, about old friends and new and the challenges inherent in both.

Long-term friendships require work. We have to make an effort to see each other fully, to encourage each other to grow and change. We have to let go of mistakes, break old patterns, remember those integral parts of each other that drew us together in the first place.

I have a solid group of old friends, my chosen family. We celebrate together and have grieved together. We have shared meals and childcare. We laugh together and we annoy each other and we get mad and we get hurt and we have to get over it and I know I am lucky to have such unwavering friendships.

For years, I would say to people, "I'm not accepting applications for new friends." I didn't feel that I needed anyone else in my life.

But, in recent years, I've realized that we don't always know what we need. I have made some very good friends, new friends who have taught me so much.

I needed them and I didn't even know it.

Some of them live here and some live far away and we are figuring out friendship as we go along. How much do we share? Do we challenge each other on hard things? What is our story?

New friendships, however, benefit from the ones that came before, the ones that taught us about kindness and compassion, about accountability and forgiveness. The new and the old connect even if the people involved never meet.

Today, I'll text with one of my best friends, someone I met through blogging and have known less than five years, someone I have only seen in person on seven occasions.

Tonight, I will have dinner with that friend I saw at the stop light this morning.

I wish all the people I love could be in one place but, more than anything, I'm just happy to have incredible people in my life.

When I die, I hope the people I leave behind say, "She loved fiercely and was loved in the same way."

Really, I don't need much more beyond that.

This post was written for Just Write. Check out Heather’s post the posts of all who joined in this week.

Power and Perception

I had lunch with an old friend today and we talked about our friendship - the hard parts and misunderstandings. We've had almost 25 years to make a lot of mistakes with each other, to be careless with words, to think the worst.

Of course, if that's all that we had, we wouldn't still be friends.

But today, it was the painful parts that had to be addressed.

When we'd finished talking, one thing was clear - perceptions are fascinating.

Two people can see the same thing completely differently.

Someone can see you in a way that is in complete opposition to the way you see yourself.

I've had many of these moments in the past six months and, when faced with the way I'm perceived, I'm stunned. This is not always a bad thing. Sometimes, people see me as stronger and more powerful than I see myself. But, when they do, it's also easy for them to believe that I am acting from that power and easy to see my actions as hurtful or dismissive.

We often talk about the need to own our power so that we can accomplish what we want in our lives, so that we can claim our place. But, I'm learning that it also important to own our power so that we are more careful as we walk in the world.

My reflection in the mirror seems so clear and I feel so certain as to how others see me.

But maybe, it's more like that hot summer day when I sat on the dock on Oak Lake and stared into the water and saw my reflection. It was me, sure, but it was hazy and less defined.

And maybe that's how it is. Nothing we see is absolute.

PHOTO CREDIT: VIKKI REICH

Leap

This is the way I see him most of the time - a blur. He has always moved fast, has always done everything fast, and I am often caught by surprise, scrambling to keep pace. Lately, I see so much of myself in him and then wonder how two people can seem so different but be so much alike.

It goes beyond his blue eyes and the slope of his nose and the freckles on his face that remind me of myself at his age.

He pulses with energy and a creative passion that feels familiar to me and, when his words careen wildy as they fall from his mouth and his ideas vibrate in the air between us, I understand.

I also envy him. He is bold and brave in ways he doesn't even recognize and I see it so clearly because I've spent a lifetime holding back and being cautious and taking small steps.

He takes giant steps even when he can't see what's waiting. There is only him and the speed of his mind and open water.

This morning, I woke him up and he sat up and leaned into my arms.

I asked, "Do you know how much I love you?"

"No."

"You don't?"

He looked up at me and said, "Your love is endless so how can I ever know how much there is."

As I sit here in the quiet, I stare at this picture and think of his words and I understand why he is able to leap into the unknown.

He simply trusts.