I head into the house and raid her stash, pulling down the Christmas glasses we use no matter the season. The familiarity of my longest friend and the little traditions we have are comforting in this time of uncertainty.
They cement me to the core parts of myself that are unchanging—friendship, loyalty, resilience. A dark and wicked sense of humor. I focus on the positive personality traits I love about myself and feel them solidifying internally, leaving me a little less fragile than when I was escaping Philadelphia.
I grab two bottles, one of each of our favorites, and head back out to the patio. Mindy’s wine stash, filled from our many trips to the Finger Lakes region together, makes me want to plan another excursion. The wine is good, but the little Airbnb we stay at is even better. Time spent together, though, that's freaking priceless.
I open the bottles and pour each of us a glass. Perhaps our next trip could be on a beautiful summer day like this instead of November, when it’s freezing. We try to hit their big annual Christmas winery tour, which is a lot of fun, but we always freeze our asses off.
I sip my red, remembering the time Mindy, Jo, and I were all up. We had on obnoxious flashing necklaces and ugly Christmas sweaters, having the best time. As we staggered through the parking lot and loaded into our mini-tour bus, the New York ice knocked me on my ass.
Mindy and Jo couldn’t figure out where I was since I had been right behind them before I suddenly disappeared. Finally, they leaned out the door to look for me and found me lying on the ground, laughing. The next day, of course, it wasn’t quite so funny. I missed my girl gang and our antics.
I head back out and sit down just as Mindy yells for her husband to take over the grill duties so she can sit next to me. We link arms on the loveseat and lean our heads together, sipping wine and staring out at the fading sun trailing over the mountain that is her backyard.
The benefit of having a best friend this long is the ability to sit in silence, talking without breathing a word. Silence until the kids and dogs burst out the back door and run past, intent on some type of game that involves a lot of running and shouting.
Mindy gets up to shut the door, yelling, “Shut the door, wildlings! Get ready for dinner!”
I go back inside to grab the paper plates and handfuls of silverware. I know we will talk when the house is actually quiet–the dogs and kids down for the night. Dinner on the patio is a raucous affair with lots of laughter.
Mindy’s house is noisy and full and fun like you’d expect from a house filled with people and love and pets. I enjoy visiting but am always happy to get back to my quiet little life.
We build a fire in the firepit, and I load the kids up with marshmallows as fast as they can burn them and scarf them down. I sneak in a few myself, the sickly sweet, sticky mess making me nostalgic for summer as a kid, when there are endless adventures and bedtime gets later and later as the summer sun lingers.
Soon enough, the children start to settle down, a sure sign they are ready for bed, and the dogs are all asleep around the fire. The cats are off doing whatever it is cats do at night and the chickens are tucked up in their coop.
Mindy herds her brood off to bed, leaving me staring into the flickering flames, looking for the answers to the mysteries of life. Eventually, she comes back out and passes the bedtime baton to her husband. He disappears into the house, probably trying to get the twins settled since they wind each other back up.
Finally,finally, it’s just us.
“So,” she prompts, clinking her wine glass to mine.
I take a sip and attempt to organize my thoughts, but, as if they have a mind of their own, the words spew forth in a torrent of verbal diarrhea. I start at the beginning and retell almost every detail, weaving a convoluted tale that is even hard for me to follow as the storyteller. Mindy waits until I run out of steam, then reaches over and squeezes my hand.
We stay holding hands, sparks flying up toward the heavens where they wither and die. The quiet of the night envelops us, the stars amazingly bright away from the light pollution of more populated areas.
I stare up into the inky blackness, fascinated by the twinkling lights, the faint rustling of leaves in a slight breeze and the crackling of the fire our musical background. I envision the earth spinning under this starry sky as it loops around the sun, the solar system and galaxy all functioning perfectly in their own little corner of the universe.
The feeling of everything being as it should be is as grounding as my best friend’s hand in mine. I appreciate the time she is taking to plan a meaningful reply.
“Ok. So, you’re living your life, full steam ahead. Non-stop, too busy to even stop and think. So many of the things that make you amazing, also make you your own worst enemy. Your drive and ambition. Your empathy and good-hearted nature. You loveso big.”
She continues, “It makes you an awesome friend and a lovely human. It also makes you vulnerable and leaves you feeling lost when others don’t have the same emotional depth or wear their hearts on their sleeves like you do. You give your entire self away.”
“Yeah,” I sigh. “You’ve known me forever. You know me better than I even know myself.”
“As a mom, I have learned youmustsave a little piece of yourself just for you. You simply cannot give away one hundred percent. Deep inside, there has to be a sacred space, a safe spot for your soul that is just for you. You keep that little spot whole, and you protect it. What are you doing to take care of you?”
Damn, she is wise. I’ve always had big feelings and have been super empathetic. The downside, though, is my heart is easy to break, and I am constantly exhausting myself.
Even this year, I'm on a frantic trajectory of the expo, the trip to Europe, and then the steampunk convention during the busy retail season of Halloween through Christmas. Why am I pushing so hard?
“I’m not,” I say slowly as I realize what she is saying is true. I’m not taking care of myself at all. “I’m pushing so hard and I’m exhausting myself. Why?”
“Why indeed? What happens if you just stop?”
I picture what stopping and relaxing for a hot minute would be like. When was the last time I just relaxed? I think it may have been after nursing school. Or maybe even before that. Which means it would have been in high school. Which also wasn’t my best years.
Nursing school had been frantic. Then I was a new nurse, which was brutal. Mom got sick, so then I was caring for her and working until I broke out of the hospital and launched my nonstop business.
