Reflections on Friendships
I haven't been a good friend
I read somewhere that as we age, we need to replenish our friends. That struck me as a clever way of saying when you get old, your friends die off, and you need to find new ones.
But when I stopped to think about it, I’ve been replenishing my friends my whole life.
My first best friend, who I wrote about in The Girl in the Gold Bikini, broke my heart with her hurtful words. Zena and I went from doing everything together to changing how we entered the apartment building where we both lived so as to not cross paths. She got the front door (she was older, after all), while I slunk in the side door off the parking lot. Zena was replaced by Naomi, who was my bestie for about 4 months. She got pregnant at 16 and disappeared, leaving behind the whispered rumours of the other kids and the moms in the building.
In school, friendship has always been a revolving door. I got along with everybody, and could effortlessly slide into any group. This wasn’t always a good thing.
In high school, I started out being friends with the popular kids, then became friendly with the punks, the goths, the rockers, and the potheads. I changed my look and my language based on who I was hanging out with. I always thought this was just my teenage way of fitting in. Even back then, I knew these friendships were just temporary.
I am a little bit envious of people who still have friends they met in kindergarten. I have contact with one childhood friend and two high school chums, but we are more like distant acquaintances. We are all far removed from the kids we once were, and the memories of the things we did together have become charming anecdotes we share with our kids to try to prove we were once maybe, almost a little bit cool. They don’t know who I became anymore than I know how they evolved and expanded.
I’m not sure why I don’t have any contact with the kids I spent 9 years with in elementary school. Perhaps it was because we didn’t have digital mediums to keep us connected. Maybe it was because I was from a completely different world and they went on to IB (International Baccalaureate) private schools or high schools in their posh neighbourhoods. When I really stop to think about it, I made zero effort to keep in touch. My mother told me, repeatedly, that I was never going to be one of “them”, that I was too poor and too fat to truly belong. I believed her.
And worse than that, I let her definition of my value govern friendships for the rest of my life.
What I thought was a gift of being able to be friends with everyone, was actually a way to keep people at arm’s length. Moving from group to group, I didn’t ever have to settle into the true me. I thought I could avoid any heartbreak (omfg…hahahahahahaha…I was an idiot. More on that in the next memoir). I could avoid the scrutiny of others. All that fit in perfectly with the conversation in my head that people would stop being friends with me when they learned I wore a size 16 and didn’t have the money to go to the movies with them on a Saturday night.
As an adult, it’s typically hard to make new friends, so I skated by any deep commitments. When I became a mom, though, I found the trials and tribulations of being a mom to a newborn bound me to other moms. We all had breast milk or formula stains on our clothes. We all got used to tepid coffee and cold leftovers. We all had shitty days and glorious days and NO ONE WAS AFRAID TO BE CANDID ABOUT ANY OF IT!
Motherhood does that to you. Your first born strips you of your shame at not having showered in two days. If you left your favourite lipstick within reach of your toddler who smeared it on his face before feeding it to the dog, we all nodded with understanding. My mom friends became my closest adult friends. We went away for kid-free weekends, drowning ourselves in jello shots and Sourpuss. We met for lunch at McDonald’s so our kids could burn energy in the Playplace and we could sink our teeth into a hot, greasy, extremely satisfying hamburger. For three years, these women became my lifeline. When I moved from Calgary and then came back four years later, they were still my closest allies. So for those of you reading this who fell into that group, I want to apologize for never telling you how much I love and value you.
We are growing older together. We still talk about our kids (the good, the bad, and the OMG-I-hate-you-you’re-the-worst-mom-ever), but lately, we talk more about menopause, long-term marriage and the looming double-edged sword of empty nest and caring for our aging parents.
Since I embraced this writing life, I have found a new cache of friends. I have had remarkable support through my wins and losses, the great writing days and the ones where I struggle to write one coherent sentence. When I have people around me who are in the same headspace, I feel safe. And sometimes, I get to have a fantastic dinner with my writer friends.
I’m good here, and I don’t feel the need to replenish my friends just yet.
If you have friends from your youth, what is your secret? Leave a comment!
What I’m reading
My sons bought me a subscription to the Book of the Month club for my birthday last month, and I am always excited to get book mail. Emilia Hart’s debut novel, Weyward, is what I picked for March. Three witchy women, centuries apart. Novels like this are like puzzles to me. I love how authors make all the pieces fit.
