scribblechic

I moved quite a bit as a child. The predictability of this change invited a comfortable disconnect; an uninvested curiosity that lead me to find quiet periphery spaces from which to people watch. It was a skill that often helped me disappear from the discomfort of new experiences as easily as uncomfortable mistakes.

It is a fallacy that we can reinvent ourselves; the truth is, we never really begin from somewhere new. Our past is a private weight we carry into each beginning; old lessons that we can either stubbornly ignore or patiently explore.

I’ve been reflecting on this awareness recently, more tender to my mistakes as I lean into the change of our impending move and a milestone birthday. Soon to turn 40, I feel as if I am overdue to grow into a more sage maturity, a calmer confidence. Steeped in sentiment, I have been considering old lessons learned in complicated messes of imperfect relationships. The first is one of forgiveness.

My greatest friendships are those I walked beside another in moments of disagreement or misunderstanding. These relationships are fortified in vulnerability and accountability; a willingness to not simply forgive another an unkind thought, but myself and imperfect kindness. It requires seeing another’s perspective and accepting a difference of opinion without tally or judgement.

Authenticity in self was a more complicated lesson, one that fought against old habits of disappearing acts. I have learned to be more genuine in my expression of self, to stand more comfortably in my preferences while also pushing tenderly against insecurities to accommodate new experiences. On the few occasions I have found myself moving hollowly through he motions of either avoidance or false acquiescence, I have compromised the integrity of other’s expectations until excuses create fissures to trust.

These are the relationships I actively avoid at the cost of insincerity, a forced politeness and passive unhappiness. I learned, too late, the value of sincerity to mutual respect; to hesitate in my trust and speak directly least I rush to please without first establishing a foundation of security. The rare relationships that began too quickly from a willingness to sacrifice self for the sense of another’s happiness have failed to thrive.  These are the friendships that might have sustained unforeseen differences had we not inferred a greater importance to superficial similarities.

It is enough to appreciate another’s place in our lives, to share a space in theirs, without folding ourselves into a false expectation of friendship. I learned I will not friend and unfriend in accordance with school yard pettiness for the sake of a privileged place in another’s preference. There is no place in motherhood for outdated vanities of distorted loyalty. My friends are scattered far in both space and time; rarely do they intersect in company. For this reason, I have found myself among a spectrum of clever and creative individuals who do not exclude others for the sake of inclusion.

Over the past ten years I have grown into lessons I want to carry as consciously as the meticulously labeled boxes stacked neatly in preparation for our move, remembering sharp edges of uncomfortable errors with a gentler intention; to choose patience and authenticity, kindness and integrity. I want to nurture new relationships that value tolerance and offer forgiveness, that encourage individuality and invite sincerity.

I could measure my oldest friendship in miles. The long stretches of main street on a small town summer night; country roads that wound their way between our families’ homes; highways that highlight lost years after high school graduation; neighboring suburban sidewalks where we reconnected in motherhood, stealing school day mornings to fall into the familiar comfort of easy conversation and companionable silence.

She’s the person I couldn’t wait to tell my news and the one I cannot imagine leaving. Our monthly breakfasts are food for my soul, my own fountain of youth even as we near a shared milestone birthday. She’s the person who never asked the difficult questions and knows all the complicated truths; the quiet place I rest my worries and buoy myself in moments of doubt.

There are too many miles between our years to doubt the steadfast certainty of our friendship, but today I am sad for the measure of time between miles that mark a new stretch of space between us.