Outgrowing your friendship

As little people, anyone who would catch our ball or push your swing was your friend.

Then we became bigger and competed for boyfriends, spots on the coveted team or musical performance.

And then we grew up, or so it seemed.

As a follow up to my last posting, this one comes as a request from a reader and “real-decades-long-friend”. She was saddened as she is occasionally at the loss of one of her long time friendships. When they worked together, they had common ground, discussing and complaining of mutual irritants. They went out to dinner and watched movies and talked on the phone about their children’s lives. They supported each other as friends do.

Courtesy Pixabay - Suhica

Then my friend decided that it was time to start dating, take up some new projects, get fit. Her friend didn’t like it, she resented the time they were now spending apart. She criticized and felt left out. My friend was not prepared for the cruel and hurtful things that were thrown at her character. What? She wondered, brought that on?

Change. That’s what brought it on. When one person makes a change, the relationship will change. Expectations from each party are affected. With these two people, one wanted more time apart, the other wanted nothing to change. The old friend did not celebrate her friend’s growing “awesomeness”, she couldn’t cope with it so she lashed out.

Sometimes, our growth means that we will lose someone. It can make us sad, but we must look at it as a chapter in our life. Evaluate your changes; reflect and be brutally honest with yourself on whether they are healthy and primarily good, and seek out others who can support your new thinking. 

It’s okay to grieve the loss of a friendship, hug the good memories close to you. (Click to Tweet)

...and prepare yourself for a new friend.

Our journey of One

Everything can be taken from a man but one thing:

the last of the human freedoms—

to choose one’s attitude in any given set of circumstances, 

to choose one’s own way.

Viktor E. Frankl, Man's Search for Meaning

Take a moment and think where you were one year ago, five years ago, or ten if you can remember that far back. I hope you’ve experienced some good things. I hope that you have learned since that day. Because otherwise what would be the point?

I know that there has been joy, I know that you have been sad. I also know that all that has happened to you has made you change. Look back and grab those pivotal moments and see how they have made you into someone new. Someone better not bitter.

Do you know yourself more than you used to? Are you becoming more accustomed to your frailties and imperfections? Do you celebrate what you can offer to others?

Are you able to embrace each new happening as a reason to dig a little deeper and see what you are made of? And although each event refines you, it is our choice whether it will define you.

Catastrophe will happen, you will see suffering, you will lose your job, your marriage, your mother, your house. In our sad city right now, someone has tragically lost their child. When grieving diminishes, what will this family choose? Our hardest journey, the most important journey we encounter, is the one we have to do on our own.

But for everything that we lose, what can we retain? Our humanity, our dignity, our choice of free will, our community of loved ones, our pride, our love, our hope.

Butterfly Crossing

Yellow and white butterflies wove and fluttered amongst the flowers left at the end of the alley. Bunches of flowers, left there over the last week to pay tribute to the loss of a young life.

I didn’t plan to pass this way on my walk today. I am not an ambulance chaser and don’t slow down to gaze at highway accidents. But I am a Mom.

The tragedy of a longboarder in a neighbouring community has drawn much attention as the opening of schools is upon us. As I neared the impromptu altar, strewn with notes in childish handwriting, of teddy bears, and shared mementos, cars pulled up endlessly. Parents hugging their child, grieving together and wiping tears.

I cross an intersection shortly after and see the butterflies still dancing uninterrupted. Although I am always cautious crossing, I realize today in the moment as my foot leaves the curb how one misstep can affect so many lives.

Her - 7

We all know her. She just has different names.

She walked into the coffee shop on a whim. She usually worked night shift and had the advantage of being anonymous. With the promotion she would have to step into the daylight and her face would become known. She needed to process how this change was going to disrupt her life.

Too many changes, coming too quickly did not work well for her. They scared her. She had survived the death of her child, you would think that nothing further could have the potential to shake her.

She drifted to a corner table (her back not exposed to the room) and settled in. Two tables over, Ollie and Merrick were in the midst of an animated discussion. Father and son, both speaking and waving their arms in grandiose movements. They formed boxes with their hands and drew a curving shape on the top. They laughed, the older man slapped the younger on the back and they both slid in unison down their respective chairs.

She found something vaguely familiar about him. Where had she seen him? Why did that smile ring bells in her head?

She drummed her finger on the tabletop.

She usually worked night shift and had the advantage of being anonymous. (Click to Tweet)

For the rest of The Little Story, read here.  

Transparent Houses - 5

Grace was disappointed that the film presentation she had been looking forward to all week had been postponed. Had the film not arrived? Had the gallery's technology broken down? Was there a copyright law that had not been adhered to? What would she do with this "extra" time until her next appointment?

As an apology, the gallery had handed out small gift bags with (of course!) advertising material. However, hanging from the rope handle was a small ornament. Grace exclaimed at the ornament and was told that it came from the shop next door.

She side-stepped around a woman who was standing intently looking at the shop window and was almost run over by a man in jeans. He was wielding what appeared to be a cast iron obelisk through the doorway. How brave he was, taking such a weighty object into a space with such fragile things. Grace moved the gift bag to her other hand and held the door as he squeezed by. All she noticed was the size of his hands.

Once inside she was halted in awe by what she saw. How fortunate that she had stopped inside this shop that she had never ventured in before. What delight to see the array of colours, matte and shiny, in a variety of styles and shapes tucked into every available nook and cranny that could be found.  Looking upwards, Grace felt euphorically light-headed seeing the reflections of everything that dangled.

As Grace faced in each direction, she felt like she had as a small child in her Grandfather's house. How the mosaic floor, could make you giddy when you twirled yourself at high speed. A childhood prelude to having "one too many" in later youthful experiences with cheap red wine. As she faced the front window, she saw that the woman was still there. Like she herself, had stopped time in a bottle.

There was one instant when the sun shone through and lit on the same star hanging in the window that Grace had been given with her gift bag. The woman outside was transfixed, and a slow tear stopped on her cheek and her face broke into a dawning smile. She had received an answer.

Merrick left behind his newest creation for consignment with the staff and scooped the star ornament in his paw. His niece would like this. Now, he was done his shopping.

She was still there, like she herself had stopped time in a bottle. (Click to Tweet)

For the rest of The Little Story, read here. 

Blown in Glass - 4

She carried the weight of her sadness around with her every moment.

The pain of her loss, disguised her true self and could only be understood by a mother who had also lost a child. On the rare occasion that she smiled or laughed, it was startling to those around her. They feared the demonstration of emotion could cause her to implode. That eventually, she would shatter. 

Traversing the present must surely be a chore for her. Because why would someone in such pain choose to be present? The past although fraught with memories of happiness also brought the pain of the loss; the future, a blank, empty, endless slate of darkness and the unknown.

Blown in Glass, Seattle WA

Where did she stand each morning, how did she place her feet to keep her balance, in which place could she stand comfortably? Or did she only appear to be standing but every moment her soul was searching for a place to lay her weary mind, in the cavern of the safety of the day…before it all happened. 

How could she have not known what was coming? (Click to Tweet)

For the rest of The Little Story, read here.