By Bethany Monticelli
There is something to be said about friendships. How they change us, complete us, fulfill us, ruin us, heal us, gut us. There is something magical about how people can come into our lives by chance and change us forever. There is something tragic about how sometimes those people come into our lives and then for whatever reason leave us behind, making us a little bit less than what we were before.
When I was a kid I friended easily. There are people who are still in my life from so long ago that every friendship before them doesn’t even count. They aren’t the people that I necessarily talk to the most or see the most on my visits back home, but they are the people that I think about when I am out here, on a mountain, by myself. I think about how I will never have that here. I won’t be young and reckless and fun with anyone. I won’t have sleepovers or get into trouble or have any of those, “Do you remember that one time?” moments. These are the friendships that helped shape me into me. The people that had my back during awkward and embarrassing times, the people that knew me at my very darkest and still thought that I was amazing. I am missing those friends.
When I was an adult pretending to be a grown up, I friended quickly. There was something about being young and married and a mother that made me grasp onto my friends like they were the only water source as I crawled on my hands and knees through Hell. Those friendships kicked the shit out of me. I loved them more than they loved me and I felt it every day. They made me hate sisters and vow that I would never be friends with any again because I would always be the odd man out. Those were the friends that I walked away from and they left a hole in me that seemed like it would never close. They taught me that friendship wasn’t necessarily forever, and I am not missing them.
When I was broken, I friended unexpectedly. They are the friends that showed up when I was bitter and had no interest in knowing them. I judged them for being too happy and perky and nice. They are the ones that healed me. They taught me that friendship could be reliable. It could be beautiful and ugly at the same time. These were the friends of verbal vomit, the ones I could plop down on their couch and unload every thought that was plaguing me and not worry about what they were thinking. They were the ones that would grab a shovel if I showed up with a body (I didn’t, of course). These were the friends that gave me hope when we decided to move to Georgia. I knew that there were no shortage of people and if I was able to love these friends and be loved back equally, if not more, if they could come out of nowhere, then surely others could, too. These friends gave me courage, and I am missing them.
When I was desperate, I friended apprehensively. Thirsty, but afraid of the water. These friends became my tribe. They were my village. They were so not like me at all but then so WERE at the same time. They taught me how to be a better mother and a better wife, how to find joy in the little things, how to be content with simplicity. Their kids taught my kids how to be young again and some of them taught them to grow up a bit, too. They helped to shape us as a family and be strong in who we were. They made me love sisters, being that most of them were. These friends grew me up, and I am missing them.
Now I am alone. Not a kid, or a pretend grown-up, not broken and not desperate. Now I am waiting. I am so far away from feeling connected it’s suffocating. I have no lifeline, no tribe. I have had to learn that though there were PLENTY of people to choose from in my former lives, when you live in an unpopulated area, it is just that, unpopulated. The people who are here know that I am an outsider and I feel it.
This place has me missing so many important things in so many important lives. Pregnancies, births, graduations, weddings, marathons, birthday parties. Brain cancer. There is a pull in my heart towards them that is so strong, it stretches thousands of miles. And it’s okay.
It’s okay, because this is the place where I will friend myself. This is the place where I will overcome my fears and chase my dreams. This is the place where I will be honest with myself about who I want to become. This is the place where I will friend my husband. This is where I will have to rely on him to be my best friend. This is where I will have to trust him and laugh with him and grow with him and grow old with him. This is the place where I will friend my children. This is where they will become a different version of themselves and I can get to know them all over again. This is the place where I will friend my mother, where we will have no choice but to rely on each other and laugh about this ridiculous life we signed up for.
This is where I will miss my old friends (most of them) and wait for my new friends. But in the meantime, this is the place where I will friend a God that can move mountains, and let’s be honest, He just might have to.
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About the Author
Bethany Monticelli is a thirtysomething wife and mother, somewhere in the middle of a forest, somewhere in the middle of Tennessee. She enjoys bug spray, air condition, grocery stores that are less than five minutes away, long flat high speed roads and swimming pools. She has a foul mouth but a kind heart, promise. Follow her at intothewoodsandoutagain.wordpress.com/ and on Facebook and Instagram.