thanks, part 3.

Looks like this lovely feature will live to see another week.


The letter below is addressed to my dear friend Devin, who now lives in Chicago. We met at work and he pretty much got me through the first five months at my current job.  




Hey, D.


I'm smiling while I type this right now because I feel kind of silly about it. But let's get it rolling, shall we?!


Remember the first time we hung out away from the office? Thanks for suggesting that. Tennessee beat Ohio State, it was March Madness,  we were alumni rivals and pretty much instant friends. It was a shitty game and I was bitterly disappointed and you started singing Rocky Top right there in the bar in Indianapolis. We barely knew each other and you were yelling throughout the place and cursing at your players and we settled in as friends that very night. Mutual respect, or something like it.


What a gamble though, you know? That transition from work friends to real friends can be a dangerous game. Not for us. The office where we met and the job from hell, it brought us together- so I guess I can't hate it too much. That place is brutal, though huh? I'm still wasting away in my little cubicle cell and you've got two moves under your belt since then. It's fantastic that you keep growing, fighting tooth and nail to get to your professional goal, it reminds me that I need to fight off looming complacency at every turn.

Remember the email thread? There were periods of time I spent more effort crafting responses to the thread than I did on work. Like, long periods of time. Thanks for the bullet points. Thanks for the morning greetings, the promises that it would be a great day, the onion articles, the laughs. Thanks for all of it. I wouldn't have fared without you to prod me along.


I like having a friend that I can relate to, who grew up with a father also in this industry. The constant travel, the moving around. Serial transplants. It's probably why we get along so well, always having to make new relationships sort of forces you to learn how to talk to people, make fast friends. Thanks for getting me that way,  for being able to relate on that level. Charismatic fathers and cocktail hours, we're alike in so many ways.

There's something to be said about strong personalities; at one point we'll be having a casual conversation about anything from sports to politics and before I realize it we're shouting over each other to get a point across. In a public setting. Causing a scene. Per usual. It's never conflict driving our conversation, it's excitement, interest, passion. Thanks for bringing that to the table too, it feels good to have heated and animated conversations. It feels good to have someone give it back.  


You wear your heart on your sleeve and expect the best out of me. You hold me to it. Thank you, truly, for that. And when I'm down and doubting myself and deeping worried that I'll never get out of here, you remind me how smart and talented I am. You tell me how I'm meant for more and encourage me to reach out and take it. I'm so grateful to have such an eloquent friend with so much faith in my abilities. Even when I'm hating myself and lower than low, you will take the time to raise me up, no questions asked. I only wish I can be there that way when you need it too.


Dev, you make me feel cool, and so important. You want to hear what I have to say and you make the effort to stay in touch with me when I'm busy getting swept up in the bullshit of my everyday life. I'm sorry, so sorry, that I'm so terrible at making sure we're still always on the same page, all caught up on what's going on in our own lives. I feel terrible when I miss you or forget to call you back. And then I let too much time pass and I feel even worse and guilty and avoid it altogether.  I feel absolutely horrid that I didn't have the time and energy to drive over to where you were to see you this weekend when you were in town. You would have made the effort. You're always willing to make the effort.


I miss that. I miss getting beers with you after work, sitting outside and taking about our families and our goals and our hellish workdays and the motley crew of our department. You're one of the best and I know you've literally never had an ulterior motive to get ahead. You do things the right way, the fair way. Life is so goddamn unfair, thanks for showing me the good ones can still end up on top. And you'll keep moving up, too. You're a hardest worker I know and you've earned every bit of that cockiness you throw out sometimes.


At the risk of getting overly emotional and sounding idiotic, I want to thank you for being so bold and in life's face. You're always fearlessly wearing your heart on your sleeve and being your this-is-what-I-expect-and-deserve, but also  let-me-help-you-self. You've never once complained to me about how hard it is for you to get around, with the exception of the "Really? You people don't have any fucking handrails? This is a goddamn death trap." Comment last spring after a couple of Beams. I can't imagine how much you've gone through for your CP, and still, it never rules your life or defines you as a person. You'd be damned before it ever did. You've got such a big personality, a great personality, that I often times forget all the shit you've got to deal with on a daily basis.


You're stronger than I'll ever be, thanks for showing me such a forceful strength in spirit. You'll always be one of my best friends, no matter how often we see each other or how frequently we find time to catch up with one another. I'm so grateful to be able to safely say that.


Thanks for coming out, you always bring all you've got.


XX Sara

baggage.

There are people that treasure a brief jaunt down memory lane over coffee with a long-lost friend.


There are those people that are caught up in the past, or planning for the future, or just living in the moment.


All kinds of people.


And then there are people that hoard memories to the point of needing a token, a tangible reminder from every fucking county fair, movie theater, trip to the hospital, concert, novel dinner locale, job, etc... that they've ever experienced.


I've recently discovered that this is the group that I fall into.


I've been feeling really bogged down with all my stuff lately, plus I have to move AGAIN in just over a month,  so I've taken on the project of compulsively organizing and taking inventory of everything that I have.


I've honestly never been so pissed off at myself.


Tiny scraps of paper, everywhere. Boxes that I can't account for and certainly don't contain anything that a rational person would categorize together. I found a broken desk-lamp in a box with some unopened arch supports, several binders of random papers, and a half a dozen shot glasses. So.... yeah?  I can't just let things go. And I'm terrible at packing, apparently. What's worse, if I can't find something I already have- I'll just go buy a new one. I get that from my father; it's probably a byproduct, like road rage, of having shotty patience.


For the record, I own two glue guns, five staplers, and about a dozen finger-nail clippers.


I could get robbed and never even realize it!




It doesn't make sense, because I'm a compulsive organizer, but it happened. The project just got too big, too daunting for me and so I just made myself forget about all the unorganized boxes of crap that I've been toting around, unopened, for years. I'd open my closet, shake my head at the boxes, make an empty promise to myself that 'this weekend is the weekend,' and shut the door again. Something better, more important, always comes up when there's a task looming that I dread.




On the one hand, maybe I should feel a sense of pride that I can fully document every activity Manfriend and I participated in together during our six-year-long, sexual-tension-filled friendship that eventally led to me pulling a homewrecker around year seven, after he threw in the towel in year six, and and staking my claim.


But I mean, I lived it. So, meh.


Anywayyyyyy.


At this point it's honestly taken weeks of spurts of motivation to wade through the junk and just THROW THINGS AWAY. It's stressful, my jaw gets tired from clenching. Do I need a pom pom that I got at an involvement fair my freshman year of college? I think not. Good memory, really, but I DO NOT NEED a fucking pom pom.

I never realized what a sappy, sentimental, sucker I am.


Last night was the kicker. Cards and letters. Old library cards, movie tickets. my student football ticketss from college, concert tickets, awards. I guess I think of these sort of things as 'the guts.' The things that are -or were- really important, that demonstrate how I have taken shape over time, that could show anyone what was important to me leading up to now, be that living on drama island for two summers or geeking out over road-tripping to warped tour during my high school teenage angst phase.


It's fun to see all that stuff, like the cards my mom sent me when I moved away from home for the first time. A fourth place ribbon from my favorite cross country course. The library cards from every place I've ever lived. I love that I have post cards sent to me from everywhere you could imagine, I've been collecting them since I was a wee sprout and they make me so happy.


But it's also exhausting.

I've always been a person that keeps a vice grip on the people I love, even when that involves my heart being spread around the god's green earth.  It just means a lot to me that I stay in touch with people. I've got the post cards, letters, mail in return to prove it. And I just really feel that you can't throw stuff like that away. And when they're right there in front of you again, it's almost impossible not to invest the time to read every last one of them. It's a lift, to realize you've done a great job surrounding yourself with heart-felt, caring, enthusiastic people. But it's also a blow to the innards to make see a stack of letters from someone that's no longer in your life. At all.

And I keep them all. Every single written correspondance I've ever recieved, I have- because I think fan mail is evidence of a well-lived life. It's a snap-shot of a moment in time and we get to keep it. Like I said, I've recently discovered that I'm incredibly sentimental... annoying. With the exception of a particularly soul-crushing ex-love, of whom I ceremoniously burned every reminder, love letter, poem, gift, in an attempt to rid myself of his toxin and relentless grip on my rational mind, I've got everything anyone has ever written me. That shit takes a lot of time to sort through. And a lot of wine.

I've made peace with most of my failed friendships and relationships. I look fondly on the boy I first fell in love with and gave my virginity. There's a group of fleeting, yet poignant, characters whom I've discovered on summer adventures and short-term living situations, and that I will never doubt their importance in my life. After all, they cared enough to put something into words for me. I accept that not everyone who was once important can always be important. I know we've got to grow, and not everyone does that at the same pace. We've only got the capacity to keep track and emotionally invest in so many people.



But some things still sting.


So, amid feeling a boost at reading the people I love and have loved telling me how awesome I am, I felt heavy. I can't purge this stuff. And I can't ignore the falling out I had with a person who largely supported and encouraged me through some of the roughest times I've ever had. I think it may be time to chug some of my pride and break the now two-year silence. The thing is,  I'm worried that it's too late and some things can't be fixed.

As I sat in my room last night next to my now-empty wine glass, surrounded by what would probably look like a disaster area of junk to any sane person, I made the decision to reach out and try to repair something that once seemed easy to walk away from. You never know until you try, right?


XO Sara