My social life is a living room, near the front door of a house, with a couch and chairs and floor space to accommodate for backflips and cartwheels. There’s a coffee table, two end tables with matching lamps framing the couch and the walls are covered in memories and friends, old and new.
I hope you imagined a specific living room, or some variation of one. Familiarity is important here.
My place is on the left side of the couch if you’re looking at it from the front door, and the only other person on the couch next to me is my best friend, Emma.
There are people who come in and niceties are exchanged and then they’re out the door. They could be old friends who happened to be passing by, or people you barely know yet and maybe don’t care to.
There are people who come in and happily plop down onto the floor with wide eyes and lipstick on-point, ready to take selfies and gossip and take shots; things that are fun in small doses. Eventually, hard to say when, one of us gets fed up and they’re gone.
There are people who come in and take their place in the chairs across from the couch, poised, confident and charming. They’re good friends and good company, and a lot of times I wish they had stayed a little longer. It’s hard to tell with them, sometimes things just don’t work out.
There are people who come in and join us on the couch, some sit next to me, some next to Emma and some sit in between us which causes an earthquake that no one else can feel. They’re cute and clever and say all the right things, but every once in a while the gold melts off our eyes and we only see wildfires.
Emma is always there, in that house on the couch with me. It’s just our spot. She’s the one who stays. Whether we’re pulling the “it’s my party and I’ll cry if I want to” card, watching the time tick by in silence in the middle of everything, laughing until we’re in tears and feeling like we did the night our music was too loud while we drove down Titan parkway or just talking about the stuff that’s really amazing and the stuff that really hurts, we’re always there together.
And that’s why I’m okay with the people who leave, because I’ve always got one person to count on. And that’s more than a lot of people have.
That’s my point of this lengthy metaphor: I hope you have that one person who is your rock, someone who you can run to and who will always look to run to you when things get messy. Someone who will be on that couch with you watching that party from afar, or going with you right into the middle of it.