New moon.
The month of July buried me alive, for reasons I’ve already documented and don’t wish to regurgitate. Thankfully though, I crawled out… into the month of August ~ which had better things in store.
The theme: Out with the old, in with the new. Well, sorta.
Including but not limited to a new cell phone, a new computer, and a new car. Considering I typically ride the technological short bus, these improvements have already made my life that much more painless, which is priceless.
I also invested in an EZ-Pass, so stopping at 6 cash tolls to and from the office, will be a thing of the past. Although truthfully I will miss a few of the attendants’ smiles.
It has become quite evident that I’m surrounded by effortless tools in practically every facet of my life, making the daily bumps less bruise-worthy. But most noteworthy, which is not new news, is my friends.
Since reconnecting in a developmental meaningful way with Mr. Ex in the latter part of this summer, I knew it was inevitable that downloading my female counterparts on the latest increments was non-negotiable. But the anxiety-induced anticipation levels of having these talks aged me approximately 3 calendar years; my birth certificate now reads 1976.
Speaking of, while reconnecting with my couch-based counterpart, Mrs. Therapist, during my last session she waved her magic wand with 3 simple words.
Everyone is neurotic.
I was explaining to her the 2-sided dialogue which dances around in my cluttered head to the tune of, “What will your friends say when you tell them you’re talking to ‘He Who Shall Remain Nameless?’” ~ “Be calm. Be still. They’ll still love you just the same, albeit having to go on blood pressure medicine.” ~ “You are out of you mind. You know it, and they will know it.” ~ “Stop being so hard on yourself. Listen to your heart…that’s the best you can do.” ~ “Tears, lots-o-tears are in store for your friends.” ~ “Seriously, shut up. You’re awesome. And a good friend…you don’t judge them for their personal decisions. And they’ll do the same for you.”
Hearing that I’m not crazy was empowering to say the least. That, literally, every person has their own inner banter that nearly drives us all mad. Not to mention that the sentiment came from a PhD professional with 30+ years under her belt…told me this insight which was as believable as explaining that the color of our Earth’s sky is blue.
I am blessed to have several friends I consider sisters, by choice, and have now had The Talk with almost all of them. And every single one took my breath away. My neurosis of believing they’d be checked into a psych ward was proven wrong. I was left speechless and brought to tears by their brilliance. Sure, they’re probably all worn out and frankly over it. But they’ve also grown up along side me too in their own right and understand we each have our own lives to live, and negotiating and rationalizing Love is a waste of air.
Unexpectedly, out of the entire gang, the two specific women who I thought for sure would need an emergency script written for Xanax…were actually the most rationale, calm, and borderline supportive [of me, not the potential reunion]. I called off the SWAT teams, crisis support centers, and ambulances on standby.
Suddenly, not only was I human, but so were they. My friends are not robots, monsters, or scripted characters — They’ve had their hearts broken. They’ve loved someone who didn’t love them back the way they wanted. They’ve taken risks. They’ve gone against the grain. They’ve sacrificed time and energy for the sake of what they believed may or may not result in an outcome of their best interest at the time. They’ve made choices that others didn’t condone. And they’ve also lived a life without regret or shame.
And that is why they’re my friends.
Probably the most ironic twist in this whole situation is when one of my sidekicks told me about the major plot line in the Twilight series. Said friend passionately plead her case that I need to read the book(s)…almost as if they were written just for me.Let me be very clear: I do not read fiction. Especially science-fiction. I would rather calculate economic equations than read about Vampires.
That is, until explained in a Cliff Notes format the scoop: Bella, a human, loves a Vampire, Edward. She loves him beyond reason and considers him as valuable as oxygen. Her best friend, Werewolf Jacob, hates Vampires and protects her from them. Bella has to essentially choose between her Friend, and her Love (who she can’t even be with given that he’ll eat her alive — for lack of better words, but is nonetheless continually drawn to him — and he too realizes he could kill her, but can’t live without her either).
I got it, instantly. This isn’t about some silly fantasy story that takes place in the woods. Millions of people aren’t enamored by make-believe, intangible figures from boredom.
It’s about Love.
Relating to the language of love in any format or context is something everybody gets. Even me, the non-fiction reading, transparent, authentic, factoid-slinging, statistics and analytics-driven, trashy reality show following gal.
I’m a confused Human. Mr. Ex is a Vampire. My friends are Werewolves. But the only difference is, thankfully, I don’t have to choose.
