The More the Merrier (as in more friends, but yeah, more writing too)

I've been revisiting a lot of my old writing lately.

Since I recently started taking online writing workshops, I needed to carve out some sort of daily work space for my writing and lessons. Silence has always been big for me. And no clutter. I like a space that feels my own and is silent.

Reality check.

I live in a tiny, noisy, love-filled house that I share with my three favorite humans. (Two of those humans are boys--teenage boys.) They are all amazingly respectful of my writing time: they turn down their TVs (to still-audible-in-the-other-room-levels), always apologize after they interrupt me, and only roughhouse and bond loudly over inappropriate jokes with their dad until they remember I'm sitting there.

I realized the writing had not been happening for way too long, so it was time to stop making excuses and find a way to adjust (anyone who knows me probably chuckled right there..I'm not known for my flexible adaptability). So here's what I did: I completely commandeered the dining room table (which is literally only used for actual dining when it's my turn to host book club and the rest of the time is the holder of all things random and pending). My shiny new red laptop and adorably kitschy turquoise mouse now sit there, along with printed reminders of my writing. My writing notebook. The 9 instructional books I wrote. The anthology in which one of my essays was published. And my blog books which hold 12 years worth of my writing.

Twelve years. Lately, every time I looked here, on this blog, instead of noticing how much I had written over the years, I would focus on the gaps of time between posts. I would focus on how many ideas never got put to paper (or screen). So while taking these courses...recreating and rebuilding my writing practice...I needed some reminders of what I've created through the years. Now, when I sit at my no-one-ever-dines-here-dining-table, I feel like it's my space. It is far from silent and somewhat cluttered, but I'm using the noise in my head to tune out the gaming noises and episodes of "Breaking Bad," and the clutter that sits on this table inspires me to remember what I have done and what I can do. 

********************************

The following essay was published in The HerStories Project: Women Explore the Joy, Pain, and Power of Female Friendship (edited by Jessica Smock and Stephanie Sprenger of The HerStories Project.) It was originally posted here on September 30, 2010.

The More the Merrier

I've been thinking a lot about friendships lately.

My dearest friend's 7-year-old granddaughter is having some issues on the playground. She can't quite understand how her best friend can be her best friend one day and completely ignore her the next.

"That's just rude, Gram. And it hurts my feelings."

It's tough being a girl. Women are difficult creatures. We desperately need each other but we push each other away, claw and snap and bitch, and talk behind each other's backs.

My friend assured her granddaughter that "one day" she'd find that one true best friend:

"Really, Gram? You promise?"

"I promise."

I told my friend that I thought that had been a terrible promise to make (we're honest like that). I'm not sure I really believe in the notion of a best friend anymore, although lately (and here's the truly ironic part) I feel I am in some of the healthiest relationships of my life. The notion of That One True Best Friend--the promise that little girl is holding out for--puts a whole lot of pressure on her and especially on the girls around her. No one person should be responsible for being every thing to anyone.

That little girl may be so busy looking for that One Girl that she may miss out on all the ones skipping happily around her on the playground.

* * *

In spite of the fact that most people would probably describe me as very outgoing, I've actually spent most of my life being somewhat anti-social. Growing up, I was never accepted into any of the Cliques Of The Moment, and more often than not, I'd find somebody who was "like me" (read: a little too loud or a little too dramatic or a little too awkward or a little too whatever I happened to be at the time) and I'd latch on. I'd found her: my friendship soulmate! And eventually, as is almost always inevitable with females, she'd screw me over. There was Marilyn in 3rd grade, who one day came back from lunch and abruptly and silently pulled her desk a few inches away from mine and refused to speak to me. I remember Lena, in middle school, who decided hanging out with "the other girls" was way cooler than hanging out with me (she was probably right). The list goes on and on. I realize there were probably many times that I, too, had disappointed them...I don't doubt that I said something completely inappropriate to Marilyn that day at lunch, but couldn't she have told me what that something was?

What I've come to realize over the last couple of years is that all that time I spent excluding everyone else to be with my One True Best Friend, I had missed out. A lot. On people, outings, experiences, adventures, life lessons.

I now find myself surrounded by a lot of really remarkable women...some I had pushed aside for years because I simply "didn't have the time" to spend with them. I am more open, less judgmental, and having a whole heck of a lot more fun. My "collection" of girlfriends are all incredibly different: with some I can discuss, in great details, Marc Jacobs's personal make-over...others shop "exclusively" at Walmart and Target. For some of my friends, sweating is restricted to dancing and sex...others are game for anything from a 5k to a full-out adventure race. I would not call any one of these women my Best Friend. I know who I can call in the middle of the night when my kid is running a fever of 105. I know who I can call when I'm desperate for a night of dancing and drinks. Some of these women know secrets about me that the rest of the world would be shocked to know. Others, I'm just starting to truly trust.

Today, I "asked a girl out." Well, that's what it felt like, anyway. I recently started to talk to someone at work who seems to be so amazingly interesting and intelligent and just plain "cool," that I stepped out of my old comfort zone and, after 30 minutes of chatting about designer galoshes, world-wide travel, Christian Louboutins, mamas' boys, marriage and children, I decided to make a plan to get together next week. This may seem like a totally normal thing to do. But for me, it felt foreign. This woman may become one of my girls. Or, perhaps we will get together and have absolutely nothing to talk about (although after that 30-minute-all-inclusive-chat, I doubt it!). But the point is that I have finally figured out that I don't need one Best Friend. I need lots of really fantastic friends. I am no longer disappointed, because I don't put all my eggs in one basket. I have lots of baskets, and I'm skipping happily around with them on the playground.

Little Miss Understood

Drawing credit: artprojectsforkids.org

sometimes I wonder

if

being misunderstood

often

and chronically

is actually a good thing

a sign

that you are

different

headstrong

passionate

your own person

that it really does not

occur to you

that what you

said

did

or how you chose

to live your life

was not

The Way You Were Supposed To

if perhaps

instead of it

being a curse

or a burden

it is

in actuality

a

beam

of light

that dances inside of you

all the time

you were born with it

and it is that light

that sometimes

blinds

confuses

frightens

Everyone Else

but that beam

is a lighthouse

it signals to the others

that are not Other

but

just

like

you

Recognition.

and it lights the way

as you stumble

second guessing

doubting

trying to

fit in

be more this

less that

definitely always much less that

that dancing guiding light

it is there

even when

you have to squint

because

no matter

how inconvenient

it is

to be

misunderstood

by so many

so often

it

is actually a good thing

This poem was inspired by a little fairy who walks around with a light so big inside of her, it's most definitely blinding (in the good way); but it's really about myself and everyone else who is just a little different and often misunderstood.

I'm not good at good-byes. I'm even worse at Skyping.

I suspect that most people who know me would say I am very social.

Outgoing.

Friendly.

That's true.

But what's also true is that I have a very select group of people who I consider "close."

In my early 20's I remember saying I had a List Of My Favorite People In The World.

Now that I'm in my 40's, I don't go around announcing that so much anymore (instead, apparently, I just write about it on a public forum), but it's still true.

I can count those people on one hand. It's a very elite group of people, if I do say so myself.

And before you all go and think that I'm boasting here because they are so lucky to be considered one of my elites, let me go on record, that what I'm actually boasting about is how lucky I am to have them on My List. (You all know who you are.)

And now, one of those Very Elite People is leaving.

She is moving.

To France.

I am terrible at geography, but I know for a fact that that's really fucking far.

And I am at a complete loss.

I knew it was coming. In actuality, I've suspected it for years. There are people that you just know are not going to remain in one place for too long. I've had her in my life for nearly a decade. I'm shocked it's taken her this long to get to this point in her life, really. She's just not a Miami-kinda-girl. She's sorta like a hummingbird. She flits and flutters with a dizzying display of colors and movement. She's a perpetual blur.

And yes, I know. The world is small these days. There is texting and Skyping and apps that I have no clue about that I will most certainly have to learn how to use and we will most definitely absolutely without a doubt stay in touch and she will come back and forth for work and maybe even we will all go up to visit her on a fabulous South of France holiday worthy of being turned into a Woodie Allen-like comedy starring Drew Barrymore as me and Maggie Gyllenhaal as her and it will be just the same.

But it won't.

And so.

Here I am, with one my Elite Favorite People In The Whole World leaving and I am so damn happy for her and so damn sad for me that I don't know which one hurts more.

And so.

When I don't know what to do and I don't know how to cope, there is only one thing I can do, and that is write. (How ironic, considering my last post, no?) 

I got home tonight from her teeny studio apartment with the purple settee and the loose-leaf tea canisters and the professional photo equipment, after a take-out dinner of her favorite Indian food and a bottle of Trader Joe's red wine, weighed down by the garbage bags filled with her hand-me-down clothes and shoes. "I'm purging at least 50% of my closet before I move!" she declared. "And I want you to have first dibs because you'll appreciate it the most!" I explained to my boys (mostly my Ben, the 9-year-old-going-on-40) why my eyes were puffy. They, who love her too, were not happy either. "Right now, I'm hating Europe," Ben choked. I started to go through the clothes, wipe down the brown leather boots I had coveted for almost as long as I'd known her, tried one on, slipped it off, left it on the kitchen floor, came to the sofa, opened the laptop and here I am.

My words are really all I can give

to this friend who has taught me that...

...galoshes are perfectly acceptable with a summer dress to go window shopping at an indoor mall.

...I "must exploit" my eyelashes.

...in a pinch, hair works just as well as floss.

...if you really need a mixer for your flask of vodka while in the middle of downtown Miami during Art Basel, you can probably get some free coke (and a highball glass!) if you walk down an alley and smile at a caterer.

...I look much better in color.

...I take too many things way too seriously.

...Photoshop is not a myth.

...it's perfectly awesome to be myself.

...I am not the only person in the world who can have an intensely serious conversation about the meaning of my stiletto collection.

...there is no shame in rocking back and forth and sobbing uncontrollably as long as you are doing it with someone you trust.

...consignment shops really are the single best place to shop for true treasures.

...reading about Nietzsche is not that bad.

...reading about a post-apocalyptic road is. 

...green shimmery eye shadow can, in fact, be worn to work in the middle of the day.

...there are other people who ponder and wonder and fret and analyze and dream just as much as I do.

...I am not the only girl who thinks that an adventure race is the perfect venue for some shimmery body lotion.

...every Thelma needs a Louise, but every Louise needs a Thelma.

To you, my friend, I want to go on record as saying you made me a better Me. I am most certainly a cooler, stronger, more interesting and authentic version of myself because of you.

Thanks for the boots...they'll look hot with my new farmer's market hippie chic outfit. In fact, it may have to go on my Elite List of Favorite Outfits in the World.

You should be honored.

My lists are almost as coveted as your boots.

We need to talk

Here's the weird thing, I think, about friendships: we all want to be just like the characters of Sex and the City...all open and blunt and honest and communicative. We want to be able to talk to each other totally uncensored, unedited, with no nerves, no qualms, no reservations. But how many of us really, really do?

I talk a lot. I am super open with almost everyone. I think most of my friends would say that I am transparent. And although I know there are lots of things that I am not good at, I know I'm good at communicating. Yet, when it comes to talking to my girlfriends (and I mean my most intimate ones...The Ones Who Matter), I struggle. (Inside, at least.)

It's not the conversation part or the confrontation part. It's not that I don't know what to say or how to say it. It's all about the Should.

Should I tell her?
Should I be this upset/disturbed/bothered about it?
Should I risk disturbing the current status of this friendship about this "little thing"?

And there it is. It always manages to creep in. The self-doubt.

I doubt whether my feelings are valid enough.

The best way I can describe it is with the phrase: internally sheepish.

It's like, inside, I'm this little girl, digging the toe of her shoe into the playground dirt, tilting her head all lopsided-like to meet her shrugging shoulder, eyes averted, mumbling about hurt feelings.

On the outside, though, there's my Rational Self...the one that has had many years of therapy, lots of experiences to build herself up, and surrounds herself with wonderful people who inspire and enrich her.  Luckily, that's the version that shows up for The Big Stuff. That version ignores the sheepish little girl inside. That version knows that strong women who want strong friendships talk.

My friends--The Ones Who Matter--will surely read this sooner rather than later (they're awesome cheerleaders like that), and I wonder what they will think of this.

"Talk?" they will wonder, probably. "But we talk about everything."
"Talk?" they will wonder. "But Liz tells me what she thinks all the time." (I know...how lucky are they, huh?)

But I have no problems whatsoever talking about everything all the time: money, sex, men,
fears, goals, dreams, parenting, body issues, therapy sessions...

But talking about me being upset with them about something in particular?

I do it.
Eventually.
Inevitably.

But I hesitate.
I ponder.
I feel all uncomfortable and fidgety and internally sheepish.

I thought, initially, that this was just a Me thing...that most good female friends really hash it out on a regular basis, but then, I thought: Maybe not? Aren't we, women, known for being grudge-holders and petty? Aren't we known for keeping things in for the sake of peace? And don't most of us know of someone (or lived it ourselves) who had a female friendship that went, suddenly, wrong? I wonder how often other women get miffed at something a girlfriend did, a minor thing, perhaps, and they leave it alone...to sit there, to fester, to grow into something bigger? Something important?

So I am curious: When it comes to bringing something up that is nagging you about your female (good) friends, do you just throw it out there, no hesitation a la Samantha...No fear? No sheepishness?
Or are you more like Charlotte, and struggle sometimes, too?

P.S. And am I the only one who still really misses that show and its characters? Hopefully not, or else this post is going to seem really out-of-style.

Friendships: The More the Merrier

*This post originally appeared in September of 2010, but I am reposting it today as part of Project: Underblog's theme-based monthly link-up. Root for the underBLOG and check out their site. It's not just about comments and stats and social media. Sometimes, good writing is just about "small and mighty" voices.

I've been thinking a lot about friendships lately.

My dearest friend's 7-year-old granddaughter is having some issues on the playground. She can't quite understand how her best friend can be her best friend one day and completely ignore her the next.

"That's just rude, Gram. And it hurts my feelings."

It's tough being a girl. Women are difficult creatures. We desperately need each other but we push each other away, claw and snap and bitch, and talk behind each other's backs.

My friend assured her granddaughter that "one day" she'd find that one true best friend:

"Really, Gram? You promise?"

"I promise."

I told my friend that I thought that had been a terrible promise to make (we're honest like that). I'm not sure I really believe in the notion of a best friend anymore, although lately (and here's the truly ironic part) I feel I am in some of the healthiest relationships of my life. The notion of That One True Best Friend--the promise that little girl is holding out for--puts a whole lot of pressure on her and especially on the girls around her. No one person should be responsible for being every thing to anyone.

That little girl may be so busy looking for that One Girl that she may miss out on all the ones skipping happily around her on the playground.

* * *

In spite of the fact that most people would probably describe me as very outgoing, I've actually spent most of my life being somewhat anti-social. Growing up, I was never accepted into any of the Cliques Of The Moment, and more often than not, I'd find somebody who was "like me" (read: a little too loud or a little too dramatic or a little too awkward or a little too whatever I happened to be at the time) and I'd latch on. I'd found her: my friendship soulmate! And eventually, as is almost always inevitable with females, she'd screw me over. There was Marilyn in 3rd grade, who one day came back from lunch and abruptly and silently pulled her desk a few inches away from mine and refused to speak to me. I remember Lena, in middle school, who decided hanging out with "the other girls" was way cooler than hanging out with me (she was probably right). The list goes on and on. I realize there were probably many times that I, too, had disappointed them...I don't doubt that I said something completely inappropriate to Marilyn that day at lunch, but couldn't she have told me what that something was?
 

What I've come to realize over the last couple of years is that all that time I spent excluding everyone else to be with my One True Best Friend, I had missed out. A lot. On people, outings, experiences, adventures, life lessons.

I now find myself surrounded by a lot of really remarkable women...some I had pushed aside for years because I simply "didn't have the time" to spend with them. I am more open, less judgmental, and having a whole heck of a lot more fun. My "collection" of girlfriends are all incredibly different: with some I can discuss, in great details, Marc Jacobs's personal make-over...others shop "exclusively" at Walmart and Target. For some of my friends, sweating is restricted to dancing and sex...others are game for anything from a 5k to a full-out adventure race. I would not call any one of these women my Best Friend. I know who I can call in the middle of the night when my kid is running a fever of 105. I know who I can call when I'm desperate for a night of dancing and drinks. Some of these women know secrets about me that the rest of the world would be shocked to know. Others, I'm just starting to truly trust.

Today, I "asked a girl out." Well, that's what it felt like, anyway. I recently started to talk to someone at work who seems to be so amazingly interesting and intelligent and just plain "cool," that I stepped out of my old comfort zone and, after 30 minutes of chatting about designer galoshes, world-wide travel, Christian Louboutins, mamas' boys, marriage and children, I decided to make a plan to get together next week. This may seem like a totally normal thing to do. But for me, it felt foreign. This woman may become one of my girls. Or, perhaps we will get together and have absolutely nothing to talk about (although after that 30-minute-all-inclusive-chat, I doubt it!). But the point is that I have finally figured out that I don't need one Best Friend. I need lots of really fantastic friends. I am no longer disappointed, because I don't put all my eggs in one basket. I have lots of baskets, and I'm skipping happily around with them on the playground.

Closure

It is inevitable that, at some point in life, someone will disappoint you.

I understand that.
I expect that.
But what I have a really hard time with is letting it go, especially when it happens repeatedly and intentionally.

I realize, as I begin this post, that there is a strong possibility that it will not make sense. That when people read this, they will be left only with questions, and possibly wondering why I would write something in a way that doesn’t really give a clear picture. But sometimes, you just have to write stuff for yourself. You just have to get it out.

Consider this an exorcism of anger.

Everyone has issues. No one is perfect. And certainly, no one can behave perfectly every time with every one. But really, that whole little excuse people toss around: “Oh, that’s just how they are”…? That’s bullshit. People treating people poorly isn’t okay. Especially when you actually know each other. Especially when you actually shared a lifetime’s worth of secrets and stories together.

When you just become too wrapped up in your own life, your own world, your own head, that you can’t take a moment to step out of it long enough to ask someone else about her life, her kids, her stuff…that’s not just being flaky, or ditsy, or busy. That’s not “That’s just how she is.” That’s selfish. That’s inconsiderate. That’s rude. And that, in my book, is unforgivable.

When your own issues and personality “quirks” make you a burden in my life, when you can not bring yourself to reach out and return a gesture, an interest, a thought, then I’m done with you. And I don’t really care if that’s just the way you are. I don’t care if you don’t mean anything by it. Because it’s pretty damn obvious that you don’t care, either, about me or my world.

I understand that, in relationships, there’s an ebb and flow. There are times when one person will have to give more, one person will have to be more available, one person will have to be more patient. That’s what relationships are for: not just to enjoy the good times, but to carry the other one’s load when it gets a bit too heavy for a while. But when that becomes all there is…when it’s all about one of you, for a long, long time…when the other one is forgotten…when it becomes completely one-sided…then you walk away (I do, anyhow) because it’s unacceptable, and life is too short. And my life, right now, is filled with wonderful people and amazing things. And when someone becomes toxic, when your presence literally pains me instead of elevates me, then I’m done.

And what drives me the craziest…what bites at my subconscious constantly and makes me desperately want to try to understand...what makes me consider actually having yet another conversation about this behavior...is that it’s just not normal. It’s just not socially acceptable responses. It’s unexplainable.

And, I suppose, this is why so many are suggesting that there must be a reason for this person’s behavior. “It just doesn’t make sense,” is what I hear over and over again. “Maybe there’s something going on.”

Maybe.

But I doubt it. Because this is just this person’s method of operation, historically.

Maybe.

But I don’t care. Because after you’ve been figuratively beat up for a couple of years and you’ve been chronically bewildered and disappointed by behavior for even longer, you get tired of making excuses…you get tired of defending and explaining… You realize that you were the first person to shrug and say "But that’s just how she is.”

Stretching out of my comfort zone

As I contorted myself into side-angle pose and inhaled deeply, I tried to clear my mind.

It is one of the things I struggle the most with: clearing my mind of the constant noise...the ideas, frustrations, to-dos, dreams, anxieties...the unrelenting noise in my head. No matter what, I can't shut it off.

It was one of the reasons I fell in love with yoga over 5 years ago: the poses, the balancing, the breathing...it required being in the moment...stopping, being still--literally and figuratively. But this class was different...I couldn't still my mind, even when the poses required all of my concentration.

Because all I kept thinking was: I am so fuckin' proud of myself.

Yeah, I know...probably not appropriate to be cursing in your own head during tree pose...doesn't seem very new age-y and ommm-like. But I couldn't help it. I was near giddy with simple self-pride.

Life is filled with opportunities--big ones and small ones. But grabbing even the smallest ones can have a major impact on our psyches, our sense of selves, our well being, our pride.

Last week I wrote about friendships, and I mentioned that because of what I'd learned over the past couple of years, I decided to step out of my comfort zone and invite someone I hardly knew to "hang out." A minor thing for many. A major thing for me. As if that had not been enough, I decided to throw myself a double-whammy and go do said "hanging-out" at a yoga class at a real-deal yoga studio.

I hadn't practiced yoga in a loooooong time. And attending this particular class was not exactly super convenient. And I already work out plenty. And really, I don't have much room in my budget or schedule for another passion. And so I probably could've skipped it altogether. And I certainly have lots of friends already. And my social calendar is already quite full. And I definitely did not need to make a new friend or take time out of my week to sit post-yoga and chat over sushi in order to get to know someone. Really, the yoga class...the "girl date"...it was all unnecessary.

But not really.

Because I wanted to get to know this person. Because I want to open my social circle to see who else might be out there on the playground. Because I miss yoga desperately. Because when I attend a really good yoga class, I feel safe and calm and still and in control and quiet.

So all of it? It was necessary. For me.

But isn't that what we all get caught up in? Life's busy. I'll get to it later. I don't have time. I wish I could, but there's laundry and children and groceries and husbands and relatives and oil changes and bills and appointments and...and...and...

Attending this yoga class and meeting this person required effort. And I realized, smack in the middle of one of the poses, how incredibly proud of myself I was...that I had made the effort...that I had inconvenienced myself and my family a bit in order to do something I really wanted to...something that wasn't super easy, something that required planning and rescheduling and more than a 15-minute drive.

In the middle of the yoga class, our instructor was talking about being open enough to discover and enjoy "the full potential of this life experience."

I was struck by this statement. Yes, she might have been referring to life in a grander, more spiritual way. But isn't it the little things, the everyday decisions, that make up our existence? Hadn't I, by opening myself up to the potential of this new person, to this new class, stretched myself in a way as to better enjoy my life experience?

The more the merrier

I've been thinking a lot about friendships lately.

My dearest friend's 7-year-old granddaughter is having some issues on the playground. She can't quite understand how her best friend can be her best friend one day and completely ignore her the next.

"That's just rude, Gram. And it hurts my feelings."

It's tough being a girl. Women are difficult creatures. We desperately need each other but we push each other away, claw and snap and bitch, and talk behind each other's backs.

My friend assured her granddaughter that "one day" she'd find that one true best friend:

"Really, Gram? You promise?"

"I promise."

I told my friend that I thought that had been a terrible promise to make (we're honest like that). I'm not sure I really believe in the notion of a best friend anymore, although lately (and here's the truly ironic part) I feel I am in some of the healthiest relationships of my life. The notion of That One True Best Friend--the promise that little girl is holding out for--puts a whole lot of pressure on her and especially on the girls around her. No one person should be responsible for being every thing to anyone.

That little girl may be so busy looking for that One Girl that she may miss out on all the ones skipping happily around her on the playground.

* * *

In spite of the fact that most people would probably describe me as very outgoing, I've actually spent most of my life being somewhat anti-social. Growing up, I was never accepted into any of the Cliques Of The Moment, and more often than not, I'd find somebody who was "like me" (read: a little too loud or a little too dramatic or a little too awkward or a little too whatever I happened to be at the time) and I'd latch on. I'd found her: my friendship soulmate! And eventually, as is almost always inevitable with females, she'd screw me over. There was Marilyn in 3rd grade, who one day came back from lunch and abruptly and silently pulled her desk a few inches away from mine and refused to speak to me. I remember Lena, in middle school, who decided hanging out with "the other girls" was way cooler than hanging out with me (she was probably right). The list goes on and on. I realize there were probably many times that I, too, had disappointed them...I don't doubt that I said something completely inappropriate to Marilyn that day at lunch, but couldn't she have told me what that something was?

What I've come to realize over the last couple of years is that all that time I spent excluding everyone else to be with my One True Best Friend, I had missed out. A lot. On people, outings, experiences, adventures, life lessons.

I now find myself surrounded by a lot of really remarkable women...some I had pushed aside for years because I simply "didn't have the time" to spend with them. I am more open, less judgmental, and having a whole heck of a lot more fun. My "collection" of girlfriends are all incredibly different: with some I can discuss, in great details, Marc Jacobs's personal make-over...others shop "exclusively" at Walmart and Target. For some of my friends, sweating is restricted to dancing and sex...others are game for anything from a 5k to a full-out adventure race. I would not call any one of these women my Best Friend. I know who I can call in the middle of the night when my kid is running a fever of 105. I know who I can call when I'm desperate for a night of dancing and drinks. Some of these women know secrets about me that the rest of the world would be shocked to know. Others, I'm just starting to truly trust.

Today, I "asked a girl out." Well, that's what it felt like, anyway. I recently started to talk to someone at work who seems to be so amazingly interesting and intelligent and just plain "cool," that I stepped out of my old comfort zone and, after 30 minutes of chatting about designer galoshes, world-wide travel, Christian Louboutins, mamas' boys, marriage and children, I decided to make a plan to get together next week. This may seem like a totally normal thing to do. But for me, it felt foreign. This woman may become one of my girls. Or, perhaps we will get together and have absolutely nothing to talk about (although after that 30-minute-all-inclusive-chat, I doubt it!). But the point is that I have finally figured out that I don't need one Best Friend. I need lots of really fantastic friends. I am no longer disappointed, because I don't put all my eggs in one basket. I have lots of baskets, and I'm skipping happily around with them on the playground.

What I Learned from Carrie Bradshaw

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When it came to "Sex and the City," I was a late bloomer.
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At the time, I didn't have HBO...
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...or a life.
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I was married to an incredibly repressive and dull man. I wore beige a lot. I didn't go out and I owned a couple of "proper" heels.
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My friends at the time were rabid SATC fans (as were most women). I finally got tired of sitting with them at lunch and trying to figure out who this "Big" was and why he was, depending on the week, either an incredible asshole or the man of their dreams.
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So, eventually, when the show was probably on Season 3 or 4 in "real time," I borrowed Season 1. And here is where the old cliche comes in: and the rest, as they say, is history.
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Carrie Bradshaw instantly became My Favorite TV Character Ever. I loved her quirkiness, her honesty, her flaws. I loved the way she'd muss up her already unapologetically frizzy hair when she was getting ready to walk into a place. I loved that she was a writer...that she sat down every day to write something that was honest, funny, poignant, and completely irreverant within its significance. I loved the way she strutted down the street in her stilettos, fur coat hanging open over a perfectly mismatched over-the-top outfit, a seeming powerhouse of self-confidence, yet floundered every day as she tried to figure out who she loved and what she wanted.
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Shortly after meeting Ms. Bradshaw, I found myself standing in a dressing room with my mother, trying on dresses for a very close friend's upcoming wedding. Everyone I knew socially and professionally would be there. I was trying to choose between two dresses: a lovely and safe little black number and a red, sparkly show-stopper.
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They both looked good, but the red one..? It was like no dress I'd ever seen before. It was delicate, unfinished layers of tulle and sequins and hand-beaded flowers. When I put it on, I felt like a cross between a ballerina and a princess.
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"I love this dress," I sighed longingly, trying it on for the third time.
"Why don't you get that one, then?" my mother asked.
"Because people will notice me when I walk in."
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People will notice me when I walk in.
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I didn't even think about it before I said it. It just came out.
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My truth.
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I didn't even know I felt that way.
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And I knew, instantly, that I had to have the dress. I had to wear the dress. I knew it was something Carrie would wear.
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That dress, that moment, was a turning point for me. And although I can happily say it is now 3 sizes too big, it still hangs in my closet. It still sparkles. It still makes me smile. It still makes me feel strong and pretty and confident. It still makes me want to be noticed.
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But Carrie Bradshaw didn't just teach me how to rediscover my old self, the one who liked colorful clothes, big hair, and stand-out outfits. Fashion was definitely an important cast member of "Sex and the City," but the show was really about friendship. Carrie, Miranda, Charlotte, and Samantha were four very different women. Whenever they sat down for breakfast at the diner or cocktails at the bar, they disagreed about a lot of things: Miranda's cynical practicality was a stark contrast to Charlotte's idealistic optimism, which went totally against Samantha's independent promiscuity. Yet, through every situation, they supported, understood, accepted, and embraced. Each woman was who she was, unapologetically and elegantly. And that, in turn, is how their friendships were: unapologetic and elegant.
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"Sex and the City" never celebrated the too-often seen and accepted bitchiness among women. The four of them respected each other...even when they were disagreeing or fighting (remember when Miranda found out Carrie was leaving NY to move to Paris with Aleksandr?! or when Charlotte initially refused to offer Carrie money to help her with her apartment?!?). They were honest, though. It was not simply acceptance with silence. It was acceptance with attempts to understand (or sometimes persuade in a different direction).
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Women everywhere have watched this show and wanted to be like these four women. But it's easy to charge in the three digits for a pair of designer shoes, or to make plans to go out for Cosmos with three fabulously dressed friends. It is not so easy to truly be those women: strong, independent, supportive, loyal, honest, and respectful towards each other.
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And, of course, in addition to the fashion and the friendship, there were the men. Every one of us who watched the show had a favorite. Personally, I was always more of an Aidan-kinda-girl. I have never been into men with Armani suits and perfectly coiffed hair. But in the end, even I had to admit that Big was the man for Carrie. No matter how nice (Aidan) or wordly (that hateful Aleksandr) the men were, she needed to be--as all of us should--with the one who understood her, who let her be Carrie, and who loved her for it.
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"...the most exciting, challenging and significant relationship of all is the one you have with yourself. And if you find someone to love the you you love, well, that's just fabulous."
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That man I used to be married to went out with the beige wardrobe. I am happy to say that I found my Big...although he owns one suit he'd rather not wear and his hair is more Aidan 1.0 than ever coiffed or cut, he loves the Me I love. And I know I could never have settled for less.
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So yes, Carrie Bradshaw has been a fashion icon and a source of enormous entertainment for many of us. But for me, and I am sure for so many others, she (and the other characters on the show) taught us a lot about life, love, friendships, and ourselves. As I get ready to slip on my Jimmy Choos (still haven't managed to get a pair of Manolos...) and go have a Cosmopolitan before watching the SATC sequel, I think of all I have learned from this fictional character, and tonight, I will raise a toast to Carrie and her friends for having taught me about so much more than just great shoes.

Girl Power

Last night I had cocktails with 3 of my girl friends. As we sat at the table, sipping our martinis, we jokingly compared ourselves (as countless other women have, I am sure) to the most famous four girlfriends ever: Carrie, Miranda, Samantha, and Charlotte.

"Oh, well, Liz is definitely Carrie, and I'm Charlotte, and..."

"No, no! You are so not Charlotte. You are more Miranda."

"Miranda? Me? Well, maybe in some ways, but you're a little Carrie too."

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This is how it went.

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And we came to the conclusion: Each one of us is all of them.

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That was the whole point, I think, of the show....that although we probably related to one character more than another, we're all a complicated mish mash of these 4 women.

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Depending on the day, the time in our lives, who we are with, and perhaps the kind of shoes we are wearing, we're all a little Carrie/Samantha/Charlotte/Miranda. That's what makes us, as women, interesting, complicated, and probably incredibly infuriating to our signifcant others (and ourselves).

I've known these girls for a long time, 2 of them for over 10 years. We are all teachers. We all have children. Three of us have gone through divorces. We have a million things in common. We all like each other. We all complain about not spending enough time with friends, doing what we like to do, relaxing away from the husbands and the kids and life's laundry list of to-dos. And yet I don't remember the last time we did something together. We've gone months (or maybe it's been over a year?) without going out together, but last night they practically had to kick us out of the restaurant at closing time. And then, we stood outside of the restaurant and talked and laughed and cried for another hour and a half.

I write on this blog all the time about how hard life as a mom can be, especially when you don't want to give up "the rest." I write about how amazing it is that I've found these women out there in the blogosphere who are "like me," who understand, who help me realize that I am not crazy or abnormal or a bad mother. And I always wish I could meet these women on the playground, at the coffee shop, at the bar, instead of just online. (And I still do wish you all lived nearby.)

But last night, as I sat there, with these 3 women I've known for so long, who I see almost daily at work, I realized that sometimes if you make the effort, if you open yourself up enough to let others in, what you've been looking for could be found right under your nose.

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Last night, there was no judgment, no drama, no complications, no stress. What there was, however, was laughter, confessions, honesty, respect, and an incredible amount of understanding. There was also a lot of: "Me too!" and "I thought that was just me!" and "Oh, so that's normal?" and my personal favorite: "Oh my God, I always thought that made me suuuuch a bad mother..."

At one point in the evening, I admitted that I always feel guilty about not being joyful first thing in the morning when I see my kids. We laughed, because most of us are not full of joy over anything in the morning, much less when our children are wailing for breakfast or Barney or a diaper change at 6 in the morning on a weekend. But here's the amazing thing: this morning, when I saw the boys, in spite of the cocktail-induced-cotton-mouth and 3-hours-sleep-headache, I had to smile. I was happy to see them. Perhaps not happy that it had to occur before 7 in the morning, but I was happy to look at their little faces. And I realized that it was because of last night...because I was able to talk about this, to vent, to laugh, to compare notes, to feel understood and to provide validation, to be away from it all...that I was able to face the morning and the requirements of Life with some amount of happiness.

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Last night, I felt free to be myself.

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I felt genuinely understood and supported amidst the laughter and the squeals and the silliness. We were our interesting, complicated selves.

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Unapologetic.

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So there we were: this complicated, interesting mish mash of 4 women, all so alike and all so different.

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And there they've been...all along.

I am mother. Hear me growl.

I have a friend who has always referred to Hubby and me as her "Cubs." She says she is like the Mama Tiger and when someone messes with us, they mess with her.

"The claws come out," she says.

Now, if you knew this person, you would never even think she had claws, much less be willing to use them on anyone. She is the kindest, most generous and decent human being to walk this earth. In fact, many refer to her as an angel...and Hubby and I often joke that we will be riding her coattails into heaven, because if anyone is gonna get in, it's gonna be her.

When she used to talk about these claws, when she'd get really riled up because someone was threatening Hubby's or my happiness, I'd almost laugh. I mean, I loved the loyalty. I was honored that The Most Amazing Human Being On The Planet cared that much for us. And admittedly, I felt a teeny bit safer that this powerhouse of a woman was willing to go to war in defense of either one of us. But "claws"? "My cubs"? I'd laugh. A little bit.

Fast forward to now. I'm a Mommy. And as those of us who are mothers know, there are things in life you just can not fully understand until you become a mother. That metaphor of the tigress and her cubs...oh, how I get it now. There's a violence that can erupt within me when someone endangers my family...or, just makes one of them a little bit sad.

Lately, I have really noticed this instinctive anger kick in. Like this morning, for example...

I was driving to work, both of my little ones safely in the back seat. Ben and I were discussing our Character Breakfast plans for our upcoming trip to Disney. Aidan Kai was playing with his now-empty container of Cheerios (Have you ever noticed how those O's shrivel up and turn into dehydrated lower-case versions of themselves after being tossed all over and therefore left in your car for a few days?!?), and attempting to participate in the conversation with his gurgles and babbles. Out of nowhere, the red car in the next lane decides to change lanes...into mine....and proceeds to do so....right into me.

He barely missed.

I saw him and swerved into the other lane, avoiding what, at 70 miles per hour, would have been a pretty bad accident. After thanking every God out there that there had not been any cars in the lane I had swerved into (this was rush hour Miami morning traffic on the expressway: Someone was looking out for us) recovering from the fright, and answering all of Ben's indignant questions ("Hey, Mama, why'd you turn so fast like that? I almost dropped my milk!"), I looked over at the driver of the red car. He was driving happily along in his (MY) lane, chewing gum. No cell phone. No texting. No eating while driving. There was absolutely no excuse for him completely overlooking the fact that there was a car RIGHT THERE. And no apologetic shrug or hand wave, either. He never even realized he had nearly crashed into us.

I wanted to yell. I wanted to pull him over and bang on his window and scream in his face: "You idiot! You gum-chewing, stupid, clueless idiot! You didn't even see us! You didn't even see us! You didn't even see that there was a car right there that you nearly crashed into that had a backseat filled with two little boys dreaming about Disney World and eating their Cheerios!"

I've had plenty of close encounters with careless drivers. But this was different. It had been close. And we were going fast. And my boys. My boys were there.

And I felt it. The tigress. The claws. The violence.

This friend I had mentioned earlier, my Angel/Tigress Friend, had told me a long time ago, before I had had children, that one of the toughest parts of being a mother is that "your heart is just out there." You want to protect them, to keep them, to guard them. But you can only do so much. And even when they grow up (her daughter is my age now), she said, "Your children continue to be your heart, out there." Helpless. Vulnerable. It doesn't matter how old your children are. The instinct to protect and fight for them is still the same. The pain and helplessness is still the same.

It's a little scary, I think. The moment you realize you can not keep them completely safe...from car accidents, from illnesses, from broken bones and broken hearts.

But there's a certain amount of honor involved in being able to love someone that much.

It is almost sacred.

And so now I truly understand my friend and her tiger claws. I understand how a woman so gentle could get so angry when someone messed with someone she loved. And I realize yet again how blessed I am...not only to be able to have that kind of sacred love for my children, but also to have her in my life, loving and protecting my family almost as much as I do.

Connecting With My True Self...and Others

I used to think blogging was for dorks...narcissistic techies who had way too much time on their hands.

I decided to start a blog because I was desperate to write. I used to write. All the time. But then I had kids. And like so many other parts of my personality, my writing desire was shoved down into the Diaper Genie.

Originally, my only purpose was to write. I needed to have somewhere to document my thoughts, frustrations, musings...mostly on motherhood but also on all things Me. I never thought my blog would start feeling like a little part of me. I never thought I'd be as proud of it as I am. And I absolutely, most definitely, never thought I'd make actual connections with others out there in the blogging world.

I'm not sure what it is. Maybe it's the pseudo-anonymity of the Internet. Maybe it's luck that I've stumbled onto other bloggers with whom I can relate. Maybe it's that the timing is just right: I have "grown up," gotten married, bought a "real" house, had my 2 children, and now I'm back to Me. Re-finding me. Re-evaluating me. Re-creating me. And somehow, through writing this blog and reading others', I've peeled off some of the layers...gotten rid of some of the pretenses. And "met" some really incredible women.

I think this is one of the side-effects of blogging that really amazes some of us. We start interacting through this world and somehow, become friends, confidants, cheerleaders. We make connections with other people in a way that is very different from real life. Here, we decide if we "like" each other based on our experiences, our commonalities, our shared lives and the written word. It is amazingly helpful...a relief, really...to know that you are not the only one thinking some of the same thoughts, going through the same experiences, battling the same demons, revelling in the same joys. I think that's why Sarah and Jen at Momalom decided to start Five for Ten...because really, all we want is to be heard and understood, and in order for that to happen, we must be open to others and connect.

Recently, I was "talking" to Sarah, whose honesty is so raw that it can either frighten or inspire you. We were discussing, via our comments and emails, why it is that we can be so honest and bare on our blogs, but in real life...at the playground, at our kids' schools, at work, even with actual friends...we feel the need to put up facades.

I'm someone who has always prided myself on just putting myself out there: you either like me, or you don't. I usually say what I'm thinking, and I don't like to blend in too much. But...

I've realized over the last year or so, as I've looked around at the people who I've chosen to surround myself with, that I have censored myself with most of them. I feel misunderstood, a lot. I feel alone, a lot. I feel, very often, that I'm a little bit insane in a world that looks down on the the crazy people. And you know what? I've decided I kinda like being a little nuts.

It seems that a lot of people are quick to judge. Quick to criticize. Quick to decide how life should be lived.

I don't want to live like that. I don't want to be with people like that. I want to be out there. I want to make connections with other people. I don't care if they're "like me." I just want them to be whoever and whatever they are and not be afraid of that...and be willing to present themselves to me in that way and then return the favor.

It's not that I've pretended to be something I'm not. It's not that I haven't been Who I Am. It's that I've chosen only select parts of Me to be on display with certain people. My uptight friends? They get Type A Liz. My wild friends? They get Loud Liz. My stuffy friends? They only get Serious Liz. I hold back the sides of me that don't really match with the other person...just in case.

It was during one of those email chats with Sarah, when we were discussing our abilities to be so honest in our blogs that I mentioned: "We put ourselves out there and who ever wants in, joins us, and those who don't, simply don't return."

The more I thought about that, the more I reread that line, the more I realized: I want to live my life like that, too. Unapologetic. So, really, it's up to you. Join me, or just don't return. Either way, it's totally okay.