Thinking about friendship (draft one)

I have, as some people know, been spending an inordinate amount of time lately Just. Simply. Thinking. About.Things. All manner of things, from dissecting and analyzing my actions and emotions from the last few years, to my plans and the decisions I need to make about these upcoming years, to hair braiding and love and nonsense and dioramas, and the sky and the stars and cleaning the house and all other manner of things, "great and small". I've been compiling these random mental wonderings and wanderings off line, but am, as ideas congeal and form, trying to make them a bit more public.

Something I've always felt is that we tend to judge and voice the negative about people and events and emotions more than lauding the positive. I feel like I've been running into that more often than not lately: diatribes and discussions about how people are left wanting, how no one measures up, disdain and dislike and the gamut of disgust. Its so easy to get caught up in, to forget those things that you should be thankful for, to forget why it is you do the things you do and surround yourself with the people you choose, and how they make you happy, and how they make things possible, and what it is they mean to you. I myself, have been wanting to write a lengthy diatribe of my own, listing grievances and pet peeves and general curmudgeonly bullshit, but, after an extremely emotionally gratifying weekend, I've decided instead to try and write a bit about how beyond fucking lucky I am to have the things and people and thoughts I do have.

And hopefully, this exercise itself with act as a cleansing agent, and my desire to bitch and vent will dissipate under the weight of all that I appreciate being set down in words.

I spent all afternoon Saturday working over at the old house, the Awful Shark, helping them get their garden plots weeded and all compost-y before planting time. Pat gave me a ride with the tools I offered to bring- the rake, the hand tiller, and my little shoulder sack of herb nutrients, hand hoes, clippers and gloves. Not only was this a gratifying experience in that it served to fan the continual flame of excitement I have over getting my own garden re-started this season, but it reinforced all the thoughts and journal writings and research I've been doing during this long spate of joblessness on the themes of friendship, the future, story telling, oral traditions, farming, teaching and so on and so forth.

At this point in my life, I've pretty much come to terms with what it is I have to bring to a friendship, and what it is I need to take. I am, by default now, more selective and less interested in befriending new people- not that I don't always relish the moments when I do get to meet someone special and unique and odd and wonderful- meeting Una's friends, Steve and Maika, for instance, or having Pat come and live and turn into one of my closest friends, or wandering the arboretum with Julie and giggling at the stars- all of those moments were precious and essential. I say that I am less interested only in that I am beyond blessed enough to have all of my emotional needs met (and then some) by the people I've already surrounded myself with.

Working in the garden all afternoon with David and Ken, talking idly about the current state of affairs, and delving into deeper conversation about the future, the potential mass exodus, our hopes and plans and wishes and wantings, and knowing that these are the people that will be there when that all shakes out, and knowing that we have moved beyond the conversational games, and knowing that I can tell them anything- the inane, the hilarious, the pop culture references, and my inner most secrets, and that they are actually LISTENING rather than just "waiting for their turn to talk", is more satisfying than I can even describe. And after we finished the garden, and sat back and looked at what we had accomplished, and talked about what it would become, Ken made us dinner and we shared a drink and they came to my house and we played poker and made jokes and shared new music with one another and it was warm and wonderful and simple. It was coming home, as it always is.

Texting and talking with Una about our secret obsessions, both the trifling and the serious, reuniting with her and Nym and knowing that the concept of "till the wheels roll off" is alive and vibrant, and that I can count on them to continue to fill my mind and heart with art and passion, and to continue to fuel my creative drive and to support and nourish it, is breathtaking. Its sitting in the middle of the woods in the dark and feeling safe. Its hysterical fits of nonsense that make you laugh until you wonder if you'll ever be able to breathe again. Its, for lack of a holier word, wonderful.

Tanya and Darcy and Kate, all far away and yet more steadfast than most. I can't even explain what it means to have such women in my life: who understand how I think and feel, who can call me out on my bullshit, who are all dealing with issues and events far greater than any I am going through, and yet all still make the effort and take the time to care, to listen, to laugh, to learn. And it fills me with this overwhelming need to always return that caring: to listen, to laugh, to learn, to go as far as I can to do something- anything, to make sure they are safe, and healthy, and happy, and whole, even if its only a random silly text message, an hour on the phone, a letter in the mail, a pledge or wish I make alone in my room with them in my mind and in my heart.

These are relationships that have "stood the test of time" and lasted through all those other monumental cliches. There is no guile, no secret bitterness, no manipulation. I can be smart and productive or silly and lazy, and there is no judgement. We can talk late into the night about pain, and loss, and we can cry or laugh or sit silent and just be with one another. We can get drunk and play games and pontificate about Battlestar or The Girls Next Door, or run around the park playing hide and seek. We can dance like idiots. We can talk about music, politics, books, movies, our friends, ourselves, our beliefs, and disagree and teach one another and argue and fight and make up. We can tell our secrets, talk about our impossible dreams, and try to make them possible for one another. We can be imperfect.

I don't know yet the language necessary to communicate how important this is to me. How essential these people are. I find all these words woefully lacking, but they are the only ones I have. I'll just have to make do, knowing that what I feel will always dwarf what I say, and hope that my actions can help bridge the gap between the two.