dropping the string.

I've been thinking about friendship a lot lately.

I usually do, because I pull myself thinly in every direction in a never ending battle to stay in touch with all of the people that I care about. Not just in touch, but to stay friends with. To span the miles. To span the time apart. To be a viable person to pick up the phone and call.

As much as I hate to admit it, it's harder when you're in a romantic relationship. These things take time to upkeep, force things that were once in the foreground out into the periphery. I've struggled with that a lot since Matt and I got together. Before, I was mostly single for two years, and before that, I was always sort of a rolling stone anyway. I'd prioritize girl time above all else. Now, it's different. Not worse or better. Just different.

I heard once that we only have the emotional capacity to really engage in a limited number of relationships at once. Like theater seating almost. You have your front row, the next row, and everything else receding behind it tapers in importance and investment. I just try to stretch the limit.

I always want more.

It's not really THAT many people, because I am a bit of a friend snob. I always have been. I've never been incredibly popular, or the person that everyone orbits around, the glue. But I have a discerning eye when it comes to forming relationships. I'll hold out when I have to. I'll cut people out without warning when the situation requires. 

I don't trust easily.

The people that I surround myself with, they're my heart. In return I'll give you my last dollar, tissue, minute of free time, gallon of gas, and I'll love you. I'll love you the best I can, which admittedly sometimes falls a bit short. But I try. God, do I try.

I've missed things, gatherings. Whole weeks I could have spent within a tight circle of gal pals, sleepovers and wine nights and movies. I've missed things, I know I have. But in as many more times I've risked the peace of my relationship to stay relevant within the group. I strive for the balance, even if I've fallen short. And I'm quick to say "I'm sorry" when I feel I haven't upheld my end of the unspoken agreement, when I've lacked in some way at being a good and decent friend.

I'm an introvert. When I make connections with people, they mean everything to me. I'll turn a single exchange over and over in my head trying to make sense of it. I'm slow with friendship. I'll build it, patiently, defying my usual nownownow outlook on life. Most importantly, I make sure it's built strongly. With the best materials- double, triple reinforced.

I have honed my skill, when it comes to picking out people to trust. I rarely make mistakes now. I rarely waste my time. I'm efficient when it comes to relationships, if nothing else. It's not about judgement, it's about knowing you could trust a person not to crush you. It's about being willing and able to give and receive friendship. Holding a bond, the other end of the string. Trust.

Sure, I've been crushed, I've made mistakes in choosing friends. Who hasn't?

But I've been right more than I've been wrong. It's one of the few skills of mine that I truly treasure. I know a good person. I can see right through.

Recently, though, I've had a sneaking suspicion that I've made a huge mistake.

That something, someone I put so much faith and time and effort into maintaining a friendship with, they're just slipping away.

And no matter how far I try to reach to meet them halfway, they're walking in the other direction.

To be rocked this way, to be wrong, it feels almost like a breakup, although there will be no closure. No conversation. No confrontation.

In some ways ending a friendship is so much more painful than ending a romantic relationship. Sure, you don't have to show up with a box of things to return, necessarily. Divvy up the memories to 'yours' and 'mine.' With friendship, I've found things fade away. Lose their luster. The tide recedes back into the rest of the ocean. There's not really a point in confrontation, because at best, things are never as effortless as they once were, and at worst, it's an awkward conversation or disagreement that creates and chism between the entire group. There's simply no end. Just the haunted feeling that even though you grasp your end of the string with all your might, the other person has let go, wandered off.

We'll still see each other at group gatherings. I'll still laugh at her jokes. 

But I don't see how I could let her in again. It's not even really a choice. I just can't.

I'm just tired, so tired of exhausting myself and fretting over what I could have done to salvage it.

I'm done. The string? It's probably floating around in oblivion somewhere, with no one left to anchor it. The pictures? They can stay.

triumphant return from the dredges of stress. thanks, part 5.

So, it's Wednesday. Which is Thank You day, but I've taken two weeks off at this point. I'm thinking it's kind of a 'Do it or desert it' kind of thing, so I'm going to do itttt.

Plus I've been kind of sad-sacky lately, aka convincing myself I'm more stressed out than I am and making things waaaaaaaay more complicated than they have to be. So, maybe gratitude and cheerful reflection are necessary elements at this point.

Ta da!:

Colly,

You are my sister. I know, I know, we both already have sisters. And our sisters are wonderful and I love all of them, yours and mine. But, saying you are my friend doesn't quite do it justice for me, so you are my sister, the sister that I was fortunate enough to find and lucky enough to hold onto even though life likes to keep us apart for seemingly endless spans of time. Thanks for holding onto your end of the string, always. I've got a firm grasp on my end.

The thing that's interesting to me is that we haven't killed each other yet. Two summers on Drama Island can burn to a crisp even the most regaled friendships, but somehow, some way, we've managed to forge something stronger, never even knowing each other prior to that first ferry ride. It's amazing to think back to the first moments and days of our friendship, because at this point I honestly don't even associate it with the Island anymore. But we did meet there, in a sun (and booze) drenched haze- and per usual, we're always the last two standing.

It was drunk love at first night. We both have the tendency to get a little carried away, take it just a touch further than it needs to go. Or miles further than it should go. We always look out for each other, though, so it works out. But really, we've probably legitimately saved each others' lives. Yeahhhhhh, obligatory mention of my twenty-first birthday. We'd known each other what, a month? Two? You got me in that pizza delivery cart and made that dude haul my ass back home and gave a little "You're on my shit list and you're THE ONLY ONE ON IT" speech to that creepy kid that bought me all those shots when you walked away to grab me some pizza and tried to take me home. True friend. Thanks for that, God knows someone had to help me. We'll leave it at that.

We've got so many good times,  and they warm me in my coldest moments. I can conjure in an instant memories of morning horoscopes with Ms. Bigar,  Oberons outdoors, a bicycle built for two, traipsing around Chicago with Mere that sunny summer weekend, and making every cab ride THE MOST FUN cab ride ever. We've stayed (and not stayed) in swanky hotels, cried in movie theaters, celebrated many a Halloween together, and recovered from hangovers while lounging with books, looking out at lakes and pools.

You're funny. SO funny. Effortlessly, not in a way that requires putting on an act or slapstick shticks. Just offhand sarcastic comments that get me and little things like slapping hand sanitizer into your hair when waking up five minutes before a shift starts. How did we ever survive rushing around and running out the door in our dirty uniforms after falling into bed at dawn almost every morning for two summers? God, it was fun. Thanks for always making me laugh, and for always having a retort to drunk assholes.

I never really understood why people would always come up to us and ask if we were sisters, but it's probably our mannerisms more than our looks. We've both got attitude, an easygoing looks. I've always been jealous though,  you've got such great features. Irish-white perfect skin and naturally dark hair. Lucky biotch. The awkward "Nope, not sisters, HALF BIRTHDAY TWINS!" always come next. All part of our appeal.

We're the best. 

We've had strained moments, too, which I look at as the tests life throws out to see how strong things really are. I still remember how fucking PISSED you were at me that time when your parents were visiting and you were showing them our apartment and you opened the door to show them our tiny little box of a bedroom with two twin beds, all the furniture touching and barely enough closet space to hang a quarter of our clothes up- and there I was with my total deadbeat of a boyfriend, fresh out of the shower and just lying around naked...on top of each other. I'm chuckling right now, thinking of the look on your face. Have I mentioned how sorry I am for that lately? Thank G your parents were still at the bottom of the stairs. I can also recall a certain time that you showed up to your server shift to relieve me after *ahem* spending the afternoon at the winery. That was tense, but how could I really be mad? I was more jealous than anything. Thanks for quickly getting over the time I yelled at you in the kitchen. Yeah, I know you remember the one. Intense. The bossman finally showed up and we were fine again, but both crying on the porch steps out back.  I probably could have done without raising my voice, sorry about that... but seriously, bus your shit. It's all funny to me now, and fun-even the conflicts.

I'm so proud of you for making Chicago work. I wish with ever fiber of my body that I could have.  And for chugging through a shitty hand of health cards like a champ- I know that wreck havoc on your spirit. And for being discerning with gentleman callers. Thanks so much Coll, for never leaving me hanging, or leaving me alone to find my own way home at the end of a debaucherous night out to go hook up with some random. We just don't do that to each other. 

Unspoken code. 

The world can be a tough place for us half-reformed party girls, and I'm so grateful to have you to reminisce with over the recklessness. The nights that carried over until morning, the trying to have a nice dinner out and ending up running into an old friend that led to shots that led to.... the usual. But also, occasional nights in to watch movies and just chill. We're starting to get that now, you know? 

Plus those hangovers get harder with age. 

We're more alike than I am with most of my other friends. I always feel at home, thanks. No matter how long it's been, we will catch up quick. It just works. It's great to have a friend that's just always in it to chill out. Not make a plan. Know it'll all work out. 

I'll maybe never be able to express my gratitude to you for being my friend, half-birthday twin, my honorary sister. But I am SO very grateful. You've got a piece of my heart I never want back. Keep it, I know it's in good hands. Thanks.

As you said, it's not summer until we drink an Oberon together or both of us are covered in hives. Welp, we've got the latter covered. It's summer and I miss you.

Yeah, we look good from behind.

 Love you. 

XO Sara

thanks, part 4.

Hey Guys, another week of thank youuuuus. Who knew I could keep this going for four weeks? Not me. Sorry it's so long, just know I'm making a conscious effort to cut down my post-lengths. What can I say, though? I've got a big mouth.

As always, thanks for reading!

XO Sare


 

Hi, Stranger.

So, I know we're not speaking. Since the falling out; that argument via text about you being shady and unreliable and me being morally bankrupt. But I'll allow this thank-you note to slide in and I don't see it as me giving in first. If you do, that's fine. We tend to disagree these days anyway.

I don't know if you know this, but you were my first crush in a new town. The end of eighth grade, track practice- I'm cast as the new kid, yet again. You were tall and quiet with a weird name. I was desperate to make friends that didn't participate in the make-yourself-pass-out game in the bathroom during lunch. Anyway, we never spoke, you and I. But I knew who you were and I'm just glad you were there, thanks for being a distraction from the garbage I was wading in.

In high school we had German together every. single. semester. And usually another class too. And cross country practice. And track practice. I thankfully made brighter, better girl friends. We saw each other, interacted every single day. You were always so cranky during wrestling season, even if you weren't cutting weight. Now that I think about it, that may have just been the winter blues. They get the best of us. You always took the longest to take tests and quizzes- checking and rechecking, still hunkered over that too-small desk when the bell rang. I can't remember exactly when, but at one point we became actual, legitimate friends. You were so weird, your family life and religion-centered upbringing- when all along I thought Catholic guilt was bad. I'm so glad I knew you then, thanks for being the first real male friend I ever had.

I remember having a vague crush on you throughout high school, but nothing heartbreaking, I had a crush on just about everyone. I think I more liked you as a person, the strong, stoic, soft spoken type. Anyway, you never dated. I was boy crazy. I've always been a little boy crazy.

And then the summer after high school. That summer the four of us hung out every single night. That's not an exaggeration, every night. You three guys and me. Sometimes we'd throw in a few more faces, one girl we were all friends with or another, but it was always the four of us. D left for college first. M worked nights. School started late for me, almost October. You were getting ready to go on your mission. Thanks for that summer. Thank all three of you for that summer. It was sticky and full of fishing and country music and driving around aimlessly. All that time and heat to kill, but nowhere to go. 

You're a DAD now. And a step dad. Or maybe you adopted her son. I wouldn't know.  I never saw you as the type to get married young or to have children. You were never nurturing, I can't picture you as a father-figure. I mean, engaged after how many months of knowing her? Five? I find it ridiculous and I'm sorry for that. I've seen you as many things, but never a nurturer. Remember how you used to eat locusts after cross country practice when people would pool together enough money to make the bet worth your while? I wonder what you spent your winnings on.

Anyway, I can't help feeling like I lost you to that mission somehow. Two years in Brazil. I was busy partying and finding my passion for the world and you were learning Portuguese and bringing God to the people. You did come to visit once before you shipped out, though. The three guys, my three amigos. It wasn't your scene, but still, thanks for coming. I'm sorry if I'd changed or something. It was never something I could feel tangibly, but it must have seemed stark.

I can't remember exactly when, but at some point during that summer we all hung out every day I stopped seeing you as someone I had a crush on, and started seeing you as just my friend. Not that I didn't like you as a person anymore, I guess I just felt you were bigger than that. You were my friend. Friendships don't usually end suddenly in a break-up. Maybe I subconsciously wanted to remove the risk of losing you. I don't know.

Anyway, you were gone before long. Brazil. I wrote you letters. You wrote me letters. The entire two years. I'd never have guessed you'd have written me consistently for two years. I mean, I've seen how slow you write. How you agonize over every sweep of the pencil. (always pencil) German, remember? Sometimes I just want to remind you that people write in pencil so they don't HAVE to be as careful. Pencil can be erased.

I always write in pen. But you got my letters, you know that.

Anyway, thanks for being my friend then. Really, being my friend. you sent me birthday cards when I had no idea you even knew when my birthday was. You told me how you felt in small ways for the first time since I'd known you. We were friends. I tried to send you a stick of gum once, that letter got sent back with a nice little note from the church.

I was pissed.

Thanks for those two years of easing me into losing you. I mean, we had letters, but really, they can only go so far. Especially when you came back the way you did. I always knew you were close-minded, and I'm grateful in a sense that I got to experience a true friendship with someone whose views differ so greatly from my own, but when you got back it was a different kind of intolerance, you seemed angry.

I can't decide if I blame whoever brainwashed you or just YOU for changing so much. Where you used to be shy and almost gentle, you became rash and completely fanatical. It was probably bad timing, too. I mean, there I was going through a personal ideological revolution of sorts and it just came to a head.

One of the last times I saw you was at your engagement party. It was a weird night. M and I were the only friends from high school you invited there. And we weren't even invited to the wedding. What happened to you? It was so weird to hear someone call you Baby. I never pegged you as a pet-name guy. But then again, I guess you married your first girlfriend. I probably wouldn't have liked her anyway, but it was icing on the cake to see her act whiny and fake the entire time we were there.

Then you and your wife were at A's wedding. What a horrid night in general. I mean, the wedding was lovely, but the table vibes were enough to send me to the open bar and mingle with strangers instead of catching up with three of my best friends. Your wife was pregnant with your first child that night, I remember thinking it completely ludicrous. It was the first time in years the four of us were together, sitting at the same purple-clad table. Dressed up older than I felt. I got drunk, you and your pregnant spouse left early.

The next thing I remember in regard to you isn't your daughter's birth, although it should be. I was ready to be the eccentric old friend that buys cashmere sweaters that are completely impractical for a rapidly growing infant.  It wasn't to be, eh?

I guess my heart could have put it to rest if you married a woman you were madly in love with that had a jealous streak and didn't trust your old fishing buddy who happened to be a girl. That wouldn't be too much to handle. But I just remember the bubbling rage that started in the pit of my stomach and quickly boiled up my insides and out of my mouth. Me, screaming alone in my car. Attacked for the way I think. The way I patched together a world for myself through reading and seeing and doing everything I can get my hands on around me with wonder and excitement and open eyes.

Now, I know everyone doesn't see the world the same way. It's a truly remarkable phenomenon and it lends us something completely invaluable, perspective.

But I've never had my character or personal being attacked the way that you did that day, so easily. I guess I'm grateful that I've learned from that my ability to stand by myself, unshakable for what I believe is right. Thanks for the test, I passed. Maybe I'm not religious, but my way of thinking doesn't have me attacking other's for having different ideals than I do, either.

And thanks for making it so easy to walk away. I know you started pacing the other way as soon as I did, as if preparing for a standoff. Only there will be no standoff, because other than one last thank you, my honest gratitude to you for showing me that I'm growing and will continue to do so and thrive, I'll never turn back around.

You may have the Mormon God on your side, but I've got the golden rule. 

I'll always wish the best for you and yours, and I'm eternally grateful to have once called you my friend.


 

XO Sara