Enthralled with a new friend
Oops, now where was I? Sorry — that was just her on the phone. (In an hour, she’s running over to show me some pictures she took this morning while walking the dog that might just be inspiration for a new series — she is also a brilliant photographer). And when I think back on it, actually, that’s how we finally really connected: over a show of her photographs I happened to catch one afternoon at a neighbourhood café.
I know it sounds ridiculous that I am so enthralled. It shouldn’t really be so remarkable to find a new best friend. By the time we reach our late forties, our lives should be richly layered with all sorts of people. People we have worked with, fitness buddies, friends met through other friends, neighbourhood acquaintances. But in my own experience — as with, I suspect, many others of my time-stressed, dual-income generation — the opposite is more often true: The tight circle of our closest friends grows ever smaller over the years. We lose some to distance, some to misunderstandings and more to divorce. The first thing we cut back on in our busy schedules is keeping up with the few friends we have. And preoccupied as we are with work and family obligations, the dwindling ranks of our nearest and dearest are not so easily replaced.
Finally ready
Before my new friend, I cannot remember the last time I made another really close one. And yet, now that my children are almost grown, and I can see the long, potentially lonely light at the end of the tunnel of parenting ahead of me, I find myself cherishing the few really great friends I have managed to keep over the years, and look forward to our get-togethers with perhaps more need to connect than ever before.
In some ways, I think my new friend came into my life when she did because I finally was ready for her. For years, I had thought her charming whenever we’d bumped into each other and yet never pursued a relationship — she always seemed sort of grown-up or too together for me. Her girls were always beautifully dressed, with perfect pigtails in ribbons (seriously — at public school), while I felt accomplished if I managed to actually brush Sophie’s hair before we ran out the door in the morning — late as usual. At cocktail parties, I would see her slim, dark silhouette across the room, and she and her husband, who seemed to know everyone, appeared effortlessly confident and well connected. I guess that I imagined she would never need another friend (and if she did, it would certainly never be me).
