Caveat: I’m not sure how to describe the last 24 hours without stepping on toes, so I’m going to give it my best shot and ask you to forgive me if this is a little vague.
I’ve spent a lot of time in the last week or so marinating (quietly) about what it means to me to be a part of someone else’s life as a friend. I have lots of different kinds of friends, well represented in the readership of this blog … There are people I’ve known for ages (some, my whole life), who know me very well because we’ve shared so many experiences, even though we don’t have that many shared interests or things in common (other than that shared history) anymore. There are those I see with regularity who comprise the “inner circle” of my life — this group, at most points in my life, has been limited to a very, very small number of people, maybe no more than two or three at once. And then there’s everyone in between.
All relationships work in cycles. I can go weeks, sometimes even months, without talking to some of my friends, but when I do talk to (or, in the rare case it works out, see) them, the time we’ve been out of touch dissolves and we fall into the same easy, comfortable friendship we’ve always shared. I love that about those friendships, especially since I recognize that’s an extremely rare kind of friendship in this busy, disjointed world.
I am not someone who deliberately keeps others at arm’s length, but it’s absolutely true that I have never been someone with a large group of close friends. You may not believe me when I say this — given that people often think of me as a social butterfly, or at the very least a social organizer — but I am and have always been an introvert. I put all of myself into being around people, and it can easily wear me out if I’m not careful. If I neglect to give myself some alone and/or quiet time, the happy Liz starts to vanish and a far less fun Liz takes her place. It’s baaaaad. (And if you have any doubts about how bad, you should talk to Daniel. He’s seen it. And deserves a medal for enduring it, poor guy.)
Anyway, I bring all of this up because, after my week of marinating, yesterday I made a tough decision about how to get closure on something I don’t think needs airing here. I didn’t shut the door, but it’s definitely more ajar than open at this point. And I’m comfortable with that choice.
Finding that closure must have opened some cosmic wormhole, though, because at 3 a.m. today, the woman who made my first year of college one of the best times of my life called me utterly out of the blue. I didn’t wake up in time to answer her call, but I’m going to try to get ahold of her today. I have spent most of the last nine years trying to come to terms with what happened to shove such a big wedge between her and me, and I desperately hope her phone call means I can once again disgust and alarm people by singing the praises of my cord buddy. (And if you have to ask, trust me, you DON’T want to know.)