Two recent topics of pondering:
1. I do not want to make any more friends.
Everyone who’s been adulting for even a little while knows that making new friends is hard and only gets progressively harder the further you get from the connection-inducing system that is organized education. But I think I’ve been realizing that making friends, for me, has been harder because…I don’t…really…want to make any…additional…new…friends. *gasp*
As much as I complain about the lack of all of the following things, it isn’t truly for the lack of time, or energy, or patience to drive my car any more than I absolutely have to in this world (as in, my actual commute). It certainly isn’t for the lack of good people I admire and enjoy from afar, physically and emotionally.
I dunno what it is about girls who say “I love you” to their girlfriends so easily and casually, but even among my closest relationships, I am quite shy with my confessions of such depth (height?). And there’s been a recent surge among the population of my regular social rotations who deliver this l-word proclamation after every dinner, every happy hour, that makes me wonder why I feel so reluctant to respond in kind. Like I said, it isn’t for lack of time (cause there I already am, dining and wining with them), and it isn’t for lack of worthy recipients. I believe these feelings are genuine and true.
It makes me wonder if, at the ripe old age of 28 — or, depending on when the liminal state was actually reached, perhaps even younger — I’ve finished making my intended set of meaningful relationships. Like, there was a quota set at the beginning and I’ve filled it, and the rest to come will only fill the nooks and crannies like sand, or perhaps for limited seasons. No more tickets left for the full-access, backstage-pass experience to the inner layers of ladisonmee. Maybe marriage is what did it, cause I feel very sufficiently shared with and known by another bean. It’s not that there’s a dearth of experiences, but rather a dearth of ability to respond appropriately to the experiences.
2. And yet, I believe firmly that we are to live in community.
So what happens if you’ve made all the friends you feel like you’re supposed to have made, and they happen to live in Centreville and also your husband wants to live in Japan? What if friendships you’ve made and cherished have changed or extinguished and no longer actually fill the space in your heart and life the way live friendships do? What if you’ve changed and your life stage has changed and you’re in need of new friends who will walk in that new stage with you, but when you encounter some potential beans, your heart is too weary to open itself up to engage fully and deeply. And you only scratch the surface, of taking pregnancy walks on your lunch breaks or like, maternity Zumba together. Is that a thing? I don’t know. I’m not pregnant, promise.
Yeah. I think I’m overthinking this one; I think what this is is my continuing battle against the comfortably numbing slide into Getting Old. But to be fair, I warned you in my title. And okay, if we’re breaking the fourth wall, I totally did catfish you with that first line cause these weren’t actually two separate thoughts, but by the time I got to number two, I had expounded for too long about number one and the second one I actually had in mind was too random and short in comparison (it was about leadership and the division of the self into work and home and ministry…which, okay, that’s also two different things).
Sorry for the catfishing. Sorry for delivering on the title. But it’s Sunday evening and it’s gettin past this old lady’s bedtime. 😴