I am among the throngs of women who have many acquaintances, and few friends.
The ones who I call friends are specifically chosen. Something about having them in my life makes me a better person. I am infinitely more full of life, more confident in my abilities, more still in my emotions. They bring so much to my very existence that each one is irreplaceable in their own way.
But these girls?
Oh…these girls…they are part of me. My breath in the worst moments of my life. My fireworks when something altogether deliriously great happens. The giggle and winky face at guarded inside stories and secrets. These beautiful women are my best friends. And I am lucky enough to say that they have literally been part of my life for my entire lifetime. No exaggeration, I have very literally grown up with these girls. In a town of 3000 people, our lives are necessarily intertwined practically from birth, and the three of us figure skated together on top of being in each other’s kindergarten class picture. Our bonds are strong, and thank goodness for it. A pregnancy loss for each of us, dealing with infertility, dissolution of a marriage and decade-long relationship, distance & life-in-general stresses…the bonds that we built our friendship on all those years ago are thankfully strong enough to hold us together through all of this and more.
Where we used to pass notes about crushes and skating and grades and pants size, we now trade emails about deadlines and baby puke and idiots. (<- could that be you?) Conversations that once revolved around first kisses and oh-my-god-Becky-look-at-her-butt-it-is-SOOOO-big have been replaced with shared complaints about work projects, PTA meetings and who does all the Christmas shopping.
These are not groundbreaking things.
This probably describes your relationship with your best friend too.
What we never talk about is how sorry we are that we don’t see each other enough: we already know that. We never apologize for life getting in the way of phone calls: we’re all in the same boat and guilt can consume a relationship. Yes, it sucks we don’t see each other enough. Yes, we wish things could be different. No, none of us are in the position to change it. Do we love each other? Most definitely. Do we rally together when we need each other? Every damn time. Do we celebrate successes? Like mothafuckin bosses. Do we commiserate the hard stuff? Like the miserable bitches we can sometimes be.
We are what matters most: committed. 100%. And realistic. And funny as shit which also helps. I need them because when I bounce ideas off them, I get different reactions and different perspectives and I respect them all.
Amie and I had babies two weeks apart from each other last year (and she’s pregnant with her second now). We were both in Jenifer’s wedding. Every single Christmas for three years now we’ve gotten together to have dinner & usually go skating on the downtown outdoor rink. Amie’s baybee belly prevented the skating this year, which was fine since we just took the extra time to chat and reminisce and complain about others who are not us.
I love these girls. And they love me back. And to us, an email or a text brings us together the same as dinner does. Though it’s much more awkward to hug them through a computer screen.
These beautiful women speak the same language as me. By which I mean they hear the words that never come out of my mouth.