wish you were here...
One of my best friends from undergrad recently texted me in celebration of our ten year friendship anniversary. I still can't fathom that I've known her for a decade... That she's known me and, yet, she's still here.
I've always had a peculiar relationship with time. Time seems to stand still, despite advancing too fast. I sometimes worry I've done too little with my life in the ten years since this friend and I met. I sometimes worry I'm stuck in the past and unworthy of my friends' time.
It's easy to feel insignificant when you only exist as a memory.
When I actually see my friends, we always end up rehashing old news before we say our goodbyes. The general formula is: Hear a major life update from them that I wasn't there to experience with them in realtime, tell them something "new", yet suspiciously familiar about my own stagnant life, then spend the rest of the hangout or call on a play-by-play of old game tape. It's easy to feel insignificant when you only exist as a memory.
The trouble is, those memories are my life. I've spent the six years since college chasing something even remotely close to that sheer joy I fear I may never experience with someone new ever again. I've uprooted my life to pursue an expensive graduate degree across the country, partly for the chance to meet new people in a controlled environment. I've schmoozed with coworkers at company-sponsored happy hours, only to realize that they're much better suited for adulthood than I'll ever be.
Maybe that's why I was so depressed for much of my adolescence, eventually to the point of suicidal ideation. At the time, it felt illogical. Something to go at war with myself over in hopes that radical optimism would persevere, but now it sometimes feels like a gut reaction I would've been better off following.
Up until I started taking a weekly pottery class last month, I hadn't left the house for anything other than an errand since September. I might've had a handful of phone calls with friends/producing partners. I missed one session of my class to attend a coworker's engagement party.
I miss my friends, dearly. I feel tethered to the exact spot I've been standing in for a decade, while they move about me freely. Though a constant in their lives, I can't help but feel like more of a bump in the road than security in knowing the sun will always come out tomorrow.
I feel tethered to the exact spot I've been standing in for a decade, while they move about me freely.
It's a complicated feeling. It's as motivating as it is debilitating. I feel desperate routinely inviting myself to their new home states in a futile attempt to summon lightning twice. So, of course, I want my own place that they can visit, too. And I want the partner they can meet. And I want the job that grants generous PTO that'll allow me to take them to our old haunts and my new spots.
But what if, even after achieving all that to offer, I still come up short? What if I'll always be just a friend from college? Never a bridesmaid, never a godmother... just a reminder of the past.
Regardless, as always, wish you were here...