This post was originally written on 4/24/19 for subscribers of the daily taryn, a daily email newsletter/writing project . Now's the perfect time to join, so I'll hold while you do so by clicking this. Love u.
Friends. I could spend a long time saying a lot of things about how much I miss writing to you. Miss sharing what I'm learning. Miss knowing that you're reading. But I know this is a surprise drop in, so I'll cut straight to it.
I don't know when it happens, but there comes a time in a relationship when they crossover from a "someone I know" to a "my friend" situation. You called them your teammate. Your coworker. Your neighbor. Your mom's friends daughter. Your classmate. Your _____. And then someday, if you're lucky, they become your friend. You drop all the other words that describe how you met and you just own them as your friend instead of anything else. That's my friend.
I've been experiencing that a lot lately, which is huge because it's been a minute since I've made a whole new friend (let alone multiple). Don't get me wrong — I have a lot of friends. I have a lot of acquaintances and a lot of best friends and a lot of friends that are strictly friends. But it's really been a bit since there's been someone new that's _____ enough to cross over into real genuine friendship. I leave that word blank on purpose. I don't always know what it is that qualifies the friendship promotion, from my side of theirs, but it's something - mostly something unnamable. More of a feeling than a trait. More of a, "huh. we're meant to know each other close, aren't we?"
This weekend, me and a group of girls I work with went to Vegas together. Coworkers, I'd say. We were friendly, but I wouldn't say we were friends. Not quite yet at least. I liked them and they liked me, but I didn't feel like I knew them. I didn't feel like they were mine.
Fast forward 2 long drunken nights, a full day in a cabana by the pool, a dinner at Momofuku with wine we can't pronounce, a few creepy men to scream at, and one single pool raft that 9 girls circled around while talking about things I haven't talked about out loud in... a while... and boom. Something clicked. Or, a lot of things clicked. Now, those are my friends. Those are my friends. Not my coworkers. Yes, we all work together, but we're friends first now. Since we've been back to work, I've walked to my desk and thought, "oh my gosh, my friends work here too." I can't explain enough how special that is — to not only work with people you genuinely like, but to experience those feelings of "omg new person who I get and who wants to get me" after years of comfy friendships.
I know the boys. I know Stephen and Katie and Emily and my sweet red-head, Lexy Davidge. They're my best friends, and they always have been. They're home to me. And. At the same time. I'm so excited by this openness I felt this weekend. An openness that reminded me that life isn't done just because you're comfy. You don't fill up your bucket and exhale because it's full, even if filling it was exhausting. You don't have to take things out of the bucket to fit new things. Instead, the bucket always gets bigger. You make room, or it does it's own little magic and makes room for the things/people you need.
I'll end with something I didn't know I needed: sharks and minnows. Let me explain. In Vegas, we were at the Aria "sky suites" pool, which is supposed to be the relaxing pool for all the people staying in the suites. Much to our demise, there were 3 little grom boys splashing and smacking each other and literally being the most annoying humans on the planet. Were they probably actually whispering and giggling and playing at an appropriate volume? Yes. But were we, 9 mid 20's-30s women, drunk with no food in our stomach? Double yes. So, once the boys finally calmed down, you'd think that we'd all relax and enjoy the peace. Instead.... god. I can't even type this without laughing. Instead, we literally played Sharks and Minnows... in the sky suites pool. If you don't know what sharks and minnows is, imagine the rowdiest, most splashy, most invasive game of tag. Imagine the last thing anyone would ever expect to see in a Vegas pool. Imagine the least cute a group of girls could look, viciously trying to tag each other while screaming "I FUCKING TOUCHED YOUR LEG. I KNOW I DID."
It was hysterical, and that was the moment I knew my bucket had gotten bigger and fuller at the same time.