When we talk about love, intimacy and vulnerability, more often than not we talk about it within the realm of romantic relationships, and much less so in the context of friendship.
At my core, I’ve always felt that I’m an introverted extrovert. That I could talk to anyone if they struck up a conversation with me first, that I could be outgoing in the right setting, and that despite my social battery having a short lifespan, I could still go out on a Saturday night. Like a social chameleon who adapts to her environment.
However, in this way, I’ve also found myself worrying that I would be incapable of intimacy and vulnerability with my friends. I found comfort in being in settings where no one knew me very well, and at times would avoid bringing people together who only had me in common, which caused this strange pattern that only I could map out across the many spheres of my existence.
Abruptly, it started to feel like I had almost become multiple people. That the person I was with my siblings was different from the person I was with my teachers; and that person was different from the person I was with my friends; and that person differed from the person I was with other friends. I felt at ease with those subtle but significant changes in the hues of my personality because there was no one who was capable of recounting my existence, and in my eyes, that was freedom. I was a mosaic of everyone I had ever loved, and at the time it made me feel so far away.
Fast forward to my fourth year of university, friendships and the way I had previously felt about them had completely shifted. It was almost as if the deep fractures that existed within the different parts of who I was were discovered. I used to feel uneasy about the possibility that someone would find them, and would poke their fingers within the gaps and discover the inconsistencies, destroying the entire structure. But then I realized the truth. That I had always craved intimacy in my friendships, and that in order for those relationships to flourish, I needed to be vulnerable.
I’ve also come to learn that developing that closeness with another person means showing up — even when we don’t want to. And that safety is the foundation of intimacy. It’s the peace that you feel in somebody’s presence. The ease with which they speak when you have disagreements. The language used when they talk about you. The willingness to listen during times of struggle. Their desire to learn you. Surrendering themselves when it comes to you.
I worry frequently that I won’t find my romantic soulmate, and that my life will lack love in that respect. But when I start to feel myself slipping, I’m caught with the truth that you will fall in love with your friends. Passionately and deeply. They will be the reason you brave waking in the morning, and they will teach you the true essence of platonic love. I’ve been fortunate enough to know what this love feels like, and that the right ones will never make you feel as though you need to be a watered-down version of who you are. And every once in a while I’ll even visit the small graveyard in my mind of past friendships and I’ll wonder for a moment about how they’re doing, and forever quietly thank them for the things they’ve taught me.
With my friendships now, I find myself wishing I knew them when we were children. That I could have watched them grow. The whole “I love you so much it’s spilling over so I’m loving you in the past, present and future”. In another universe I imagine my friends and I are 8 years old rolling down hills, laughing when we reach the bottom and wishing it would never end. Wishing for a lifetime of rolling hills with the people who make me feel such pure contentment.
For years I’ve wondered, “are we ever truly ourselves?”, and for the first time I think I can confidently say that once you find your people, you’ll know the answer. And those friendships will be the highest form of tenderness if you allow them to be. To choose someone over and over because you know that on some unspeakable level it just makes sense. Like a deep breath personified. Everything is in equilibrium.
So, to my dear friends, thank you for allowing me to be me. For allowing me to learn about myself. For allowing to me to change and for never wavering. For saving me over and over. And for teaching me that perhaps nothing on this earth matters except the love you put out, and the love you take in.
Concept: It’s 3am. You’re eating chocolate chip cookies with three fascinating friends. They think you’re fascinating too.