Finding soul mates in the trenches.
“In life, there were two kinds of friends: friends who would wish you well on your journey to battle, and friends who would jump in the trenches with you. The latter were much more difficult to come by.”
I’ve never been popular. Writers—in my case, even years before actually becoming one—can be a little weird. We can be awkward and in our heads—introverted of energy, if not affect. The beginning of the school year was always stressful for me, socially. I made friends, but it never came easily to me. I never felt I fit in with particular “crowds,” even the ones I was technically a member of. Now, back around again to the beginning of school for my girls’, their nerves and anxieties worm their way into my belly; stress by proxy that I wish would eliminate the worry from their own bodies instead of existing in parallel.
As a kid, and even into my teens and twenties, I didn’t place the value on my friendships that I might have. I’m not sure I really understood the depth possible between friends until I became a mother and my vulnerabilities were laid bare, so in a lot of ways it still surprises me to realize that as an adult, my friendships are as important to me as air. My friends aren’t all friends with each other—in fact, most of them aren’t. And yet there’s something so soothing about having this invisible web of support. Not only do friends provide the safety net; the soft place to land; the feeling of welcome and acceptance—they also give something bigger, and ultimately harder to define. They give context. They give gratifyingly immediate ways to make your problems smaller or your importance bigger, whichever you may need in any given moment. They give you forgiveness when you can’t give it to yourself. Understanding when you can’t find your voice. Clarity when things feel so muddled that you feel like you’ll never find your way through.
I think a lot of us take this for granted, this omnipresent benevolent kindness. And I think it’s only now as we start to get older and the truth of our mortality is combined with the wisdom of maturity that we can fully understand the uniqueness of the love of friendship. That by the sheer nature of adult friendships—the time constraints, the craziness of life, the physical distance between us—the difficulties somehow make it easier to give each other the love and absolution that is sometimes so hard to give to ourselves.
I’ve been extremely lucky in my life to accumulate an incredible group of women I consider dear friends. My old friends—one friend I met as early as first grade, which is how old my eldest child is now; my high school friends; my college friends; my writing friends; my first book club, turned dear friends; my current book club, who has adopted me and my family so thoroughly that one friend (with adult children) brought cupcakes for my girls to celebrate starting school and another literally keeps toys and art supplies and favorite treats in her home for my girls (even though her kids are also adults); my former colleagues; my friends who started out as the moms of my kids’ friends; my walking friend; and everyone else who doesn’t even fit into a category—they all form this beautiful, brilliant, kind, orbit of love and support that’s so fulfilling as to move me to tears. My friends.
I attended an author event this spring with Sally Hepworth and Emily Giffin where they talked about the concept of soul mates—how at its core, a soul mate is simply a person with whom your soul connects, whose energy and presence light your fire. Someone who sees and loves you for exactly who you are. I’m incredibly lucky to have so many women in my life who fall into this category. And now it’s my privilege to support my girls in their journey to finding their people, the kids they’ll grow up with, who will help them learn so much about who they are. To teach them not just how to make friends, but how to be a friend, and to show them how rich their lives can be when they open their arms.
I’m going to give you some homework, and I think you should do it now. No, right now. Seriously. Set your phone down (or close your mail—you can come back and finish reading in a minute. This is more important.) and close your eyes. Picture a person you connect with, someone who always has your back. Someone you can be your authentic self with and be accepted and not judged. Someone who loves you for who you are, who is a key piece in the community that is your world. Picture that person’s face, and feel the warmth of gratitude for that person’s presence in your life.
Now pick up your phone and open a text. Send this to them, edited in whatever way feels best for you: I appreciate our friendship. I am grateful for you. ♥️
That’s it, friends. That’s all. And if you’re a person for whom displays of gratitude feel scary, I promise: you can do this.
And if you’re a person who doesn't have someone you can send that to, picture someone you like, and who you’d like to know better, and invite them out for ice cream. Let ice cream be the conduit to a deeper connection.
I appreciate our friendship. I appreciate your support. And I appreciate you.
For further reading, I encourage you to check out a beautiful (and brief) poem, “Here’s to the Friends,” which can be found here.
Giveaway
This issue’s winner of the $20 gift card to an independent bookstore is Ellen Shea, who was the first person to open the May newsletter!
BONUS opportunity to win: forward this email to a friend and BCC me. That’s it—you’ll get an entry just for forwarding. If that friend subscribes, you’ll both get an(other) opportunity to win. I’ll draw for a winner and post to social media and email the winner on Friday, August 11.
Recommendations Roundup
Click on the cover of any for which you’d like to read my short review.
Parting Shot
I wish you the peace that comes from living the life you want for yourself, the hope that comes from seeing your own potential, and the joy that comes from stepping back and feeling gratitude for it all. Go forth, my friends. I wish you well.
Love,
Sarah
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