What is something not many people understand about you? (A Tribute)

I sat down to write something for a dear friend for her birthday. A story. I was going to write a story. There are so many stories I could tell, but I felt a bit stuck. Writer’s block or something like that. I’m not sure how to categorize it, so I won’t try. Maybe I feel like some stories just need to be bigger than others. Maybe.

We met purely by chance. A workout class. She was the instructor, and I was the fumbling but eager student. She was that thing that often intimidates me when I’m being honest in the way that I am or try to be. That effortless sort of beauty and grace that screams ‘I am always put together…ALWAYS’. You know that person, the one who never has a stain on their clothing they forgot about or a runny nose that’s come upon them in the surprising way they do. I’m not suggesting that this individual’s life is perfect, because God knows I’ve learned that lesson the hard way. I’m only painting a picture. Shaking a Polaroid until the magnetic bits come together to form the image of a tall, lean, generally stunning human. The kind of human who turns heads when she enters a room. Not because she longs to garner such attention, because it occurs organically. It just is, as such things are, usually.

Here’s the thing though, she’s funny as shit. Sharp. Sarcastic. Brilliant. Relatable. We decided to go out for a drink and I felt like she had been my friend for far longer than the reality. I didn’t feel messy in her presence. I felt welcomed. Understood. Accepted. I told half stories and she encouraged me to reveal the whole. I was self-deprecating and she pushed back. She took my side right off the bat and it felt like the most normal alliance that had ever been established.

If I could share with you the thing that not many people understand about me, she would always be the exception to the rule, whatever that thing may be. During the short tenure of our friendship, I’ve confided things that I’ve never told another living soul. I’ve freely shared because on the other end of that vulnerability is a complete lack of judgment, a little tough love, and all the support I could ever want and cannot bear to ask for, ever.

She’s not my closest friend, and I am not hers, by pure definition, but she is the closest to my heart that a non-relative has nearly ever gotten. She is a human who I look at and say, here, here is my deepest secret. Guard it with your life. And she does. She will. Unquestionably. No matter what.

She’s strong as shit. A tough mother-fucker that I would not go up against. I would never have reason to, but I pity those who push just a hair too far. She is dedicated to her mothering and relentlessly committed to her work and claims to see things as black and white, but often fights to dig out of the gray. The very murky kind of gray that comes from having the biggest heart. She enjoys dirty stories and jokes in the way that most women would wish to, but hide from, because of bullshit norms and antiquated propriety. She enjoys true crime podcasts as much as a sappy rom-com, which is a counterbalance I find charming and quirky.

We dine on Indian, and sushi, and Thai, and often imbibe copious amounts of alcohol together. Not because we are trying to numb ourselves from anything but because it makes the sharing easier, quicker, looser. Finally, the flow of our words matches the movement in our brain and that feels like the best idea either of us have ever had.

She floats in the kind of circles that are welcoming but in the limited fashion that such groups are, so I appreciate the incorporation and understand the exclusion. Moms and dads and dogs and proper homeowners and people who drive SUVs. Everywhere. All the time.

She is utterly loveable but in the way that sneaks up on you. In a way that you don’t expect will come to fruition because you imagine always being on the outside of the circles that she orbits in.

Here is the thing that many people don’t understand about her, but I think I do.

She is wounded by the callousness of others. She is affected by their dismissive behavior and lack of appreciation and desire for her to be something that she can’t be or won’t be or will never be. She longs to be seen, not for what she does, but who she is and what she gives to the things that mean something to her. She has given herself over to this idea that she is defined by something that quite literally does not define her, and she accepts that categorization and then rejects it, over and over again. She wrings her hands often and laments this cycle, but does not step outside of it, because underneath badassery is a deep respect and reverence for peace.

She cries over sick animals, and loathes being ignored, and doesn’t want to be asked to do anything but longs to do everything, always.

She is one of those humans who has accomplished so much and still, remains trapped in a life of her own making. Not trapped. But trapped. A glorious life, but one with holes and bumps and challenges and sometimes, a lack of satisfaction. A lack of stimuli. A lack of celebration. All the motions, and none of the glory.

She is astounded when she is recognized as she does not recognize how astounding she really is. You see, people think that people like that don’t need love or awareness. People think that people like her don’t need to be seen because of course they are seen. It is a fact. An indisputable fact. There is no debate. There is nothing to be gained. This is a false notion. A misnomer. People like her MUST be seen. Must be recognized. Must be appreciated.

I do. Appreciate her. Deeply. She is that person. The one you call in the middle of the night. The one you give that number to and say please, call this person, if. The one who you order two entrees with, only to split them, because why choose. The one who makes you laugh when you need it the most and feel like it’s never coming. The one you wish would see themselves the way that you see them. Magnificent. In every respect. The most perfectly imperfect friend who you needed and never asked for and treasure more than anything and all the other things.

Happy birthday to you, my dear friend. You know who you are…so I need not name you. Here’s the thing, I couldn’t write you a story. Not yet. I’m still waiting to see where your story goes…

Love you.

X

L.