Friendship

At a back to school-type assembly at his private school in Pacific Palisades, my nephew was asked to publicly proclaim to classmates and the well-heeled adults gathered in the auditorium his goal for third grade: I want to make good friends. 

D is the most brilliant human I’ve ever known, with a heart as big as the moon (a gazing at, swapping photos of, fascination with, hobby we both share). We like to stare. We like to think. We like to document and better understand each phase of the moon. His favorite phase is skinny and new, mine is full and plump. All of D’s insights, including what will one day be his doctoral of all-things-moon-related, are fresh and original, while in comparison, mine seem recycled. 

We share so many bonds, D and I, but mostly, we just like hanging out together. It makes us feel, somehow, safe. Mind you, he’s never actually articulated those exact words to me, but I know he knows how deeply I love him and vice versa.

I’m thinking about D and what he shared with his peers—who conversely offered lofty academic goals such as improving math and reading skills—and how brave it was of him to be so vulnerable. My nephew’s simple, yet profound words are a reminder of what really matters in life: family and those we welcome into our sacred tribe.

Like most of us, D longs for a best buddy, someone who “gets” him and his ever-evolving obsessions like world geography, aircraft and airports, marble runs, prime numbers, multiplication, hiking with his dad, his new puppy, Indy, and basketball. He has an amazing life and equally amazing, supportive parents, a loving little brother, but he’s missing that special out-of-network person who never gives up on him no matter what, who listens, challenges, and accepts and loves him as he is. 

My mom used to say, “You’ll be lucky in life if you have as many friends as you have fingers on your hand.” Like much of the wisdom she tried to impart, as a high school cheerleader and at the top of my “popularity” game, I poo-pooed Mom’s notion only to realize after graduation how right she’d been.

At 23 as a single parent of two in children, working full-time and finishing my bachelor’s degree, most of my friends and I were on radically different trajectories. I was in survival mode and my babies, not my friends, became my priority.

Admittedly, I was a lousy friend. Fortunately, a few of my high school besties hung in there and refused to give up on me.

As Mom said, I’ve been blessed to have a handful of lifelong friends. Despite lost gaps of time, their friendship remains just as deep and pure, maybe even more so, because we’ve waded through the mud and got to the other side. The wrinkles are real, as is the pain and the joy and excitement of life yet to come. At this stage of the game, we have no reason to be fake and pretend. We are who we are. Isn’t that just grand? 

This summer, I was blessed to hang out with six friends: My dear Julie in Atascadero, Esther in Redondo Beach, Gerel in Torrance, Eileen in Lakeport and David and Kristin in Arcata. You may or may not be able to relate to this, but for some reason when I worked I felt like I never had enough time to socialize beyond immediate family. I was preoccupied with teaching—grading, planning—and was legitimately busy. But I also suffered from thinking that my home wasn’t nice enough to invite friends over. What a knucklehead! My life would have been so much richer and more balanced had I made an effort. The death of my friend, Diane, is a sobering reminder to live with no regrets, including regrets. 

As I travel and watch families and friends enjoying camp life together, I feel such joy for them, but I also wish my amigas could join me on this grand journey exploring Nature.

 “You would love it so much here. You could relax. Let go. Breathe. Re-charge. Feel hope,” I text them. 

I have yet to camp with friends, but one day I hope to do so. But for now, I’m cherishing my alone time as it gives me time to be still, not have to worry if my camp chums are happy. I mean, I don’t know how they couldn’t be, but their comfort would be ever-present on my mind. That’s another habit I’m trying to break—overthinking and needless overconcern. 

“You are such an amazing person. Is it OK if I can be your aunt and friend too?” I’ll ask D before he and his dad’s big hike to Mount Whitney. In the Mammoth bookstore, I gathered some treasures to commemorate D’s spirit of adventure: One of my favorite books by Jean Craighead George, “My Side of the Mountain”, a stack of Sierra Nevada playing cards, a special Mt, Whitney illustration, a Eastern Sierra sticker, and a friendship bracelet.

“True friendship is rare, my mom, your great Auntie Hilda used to say. When you find it, hold onto it as if it were a precious jewel, because it is more valuable than gold.” 

One day, some lucky boy(s) or girl(s) will be blessed to be D’s best friend(s). Guaranteed he will love that person(s) to the moon and back and beyond. 

If a hand is extended, take it; if I offer mine, please accept it. This very thing happened to me a few days ago when I made a new friend, more than two decades my junior. I followed Mary Oliver’s advice when she wrote, “Don’t Hesitate”:

If you suddenly and unexpectedly feel joy, don’t hesitate. Give in to it. There are plenty of lives and whole towns destroyed or about to be. We are not wise, and not very often kind. And much can never be redeemed. Still, life has some possibility left. Perhaps this is its way of fighting back, that sometimes something happens better than all the riches or power in the world. It could be anything, but very likely you notice it in the instant when love begins. Anyway, that’s often the case. Anyway, whatever it is, don’t be afraid of its plenty. Joy is not made to be a crumb.