Friend Shopping... Who Are You Shopping For?

I don’t particularly like the experience of shopping at the grocery store.

Although I am a complete maniac for a good deal, clothes shopping from store to store for longer than the length of two Mickey Mouse Clubhouse episodes exhausts my thinker.

Don't get me started on tourist shacks set up to bait you into agonizing over which trinket, as a parent who occasionally says yes to fun, to get ripped off by: a beanie baby horseshoe crab, an hour glass key chain, or a flimsy mood ring. 

Amazon’s fine, I guess, but honestly I’m not sure my credit card can handle much more of it.

But friends.

Friends are different.

Now friends I will peruse for and observe upon and try on and hunt after and contemplate about and sift through piles and piles and piles and piles and piles to uncover. 

I will walk up and down aisle upon aisle of so-so matches until out of the corner of my eye I catch the glimmer of someone who speaks to my heart, to my soul, to my funny bone, to my particular brand of wacky. 

While I have the luxury of giving up on actual shopping when the going gets tough, I do not afford myself the same resignation when deeply in need of friend acquisition.

That’s right:

I shamelessly shop for friends. I’m a proud consumer of soulmates. I cunningly coupon-cut for connections.

Now, I’m not sure what you make of this. Does it come off as forced? Trying too hard? Manufactured? Would you suggest that authenticity of friendship is incompatible with the work or strategic scheming for it?

It’s ok if you feel this way. Shopping for friends the way I do may be a bit over the top for most. 

But I’ll say it’s the only way I’ve discovered to survive multiple moves, ones where built-in establishments of local connection have been far from guaranteed. Desparacy breeds creativity. And dang it if I haven’t felt like a street cat grasping for scraps in the start of every new city I ever dropped into. I’ve never really been into scraps, so this alley cat had to get formulaic fast.

Over the years, I’ve harvested some kick ass friends through some kick ass work. 

So by now, I’ve developed friend buckets for the fruits of my friend-shopping (if you are an analogy junky and are still working with the retail theme, don’t think buckets, think cellophane bags... like the ones at those mall candy shops to provide divisions for the sugar-filled varieties you’re shopping for). Since I can tell you are dying to hear them, I shall share the friend buckets of which I speak, for sometimes knowing what friend buckets you want/need filled can aid the filter through which you friend shop.

The Historical Friend Bucket

Oops. Sorry. This bucket actually has nothing to do with your current situation, nor can you shop for them now. These are the peeps you still call friends who harbor your first period stories and who have pictures of you wearing really bad bangs. Maybe she held your hand when you weaved on foot back from a college party or two. Maybe she muddled through your first job with you or wiped off your mascara when your first real love cracked open your heart. She probably knows your parents by name and has been to their home a handful of times. You may have letters you wrote to one another if you lived in different cities or countries for any length of time, way before we held screens in our hands. And here’s the other thing: you might hardly see her and perhaps hardly even communicate with her in your everyday life. If you don't live in the same city currently, it’s within the realm of possibility that she can’t keep track of your dog’s name (and even the neighbor with which you share zero percent knows your dog’s name). But you know firmly that she is the keeper of your memories and your identity. She can connect the dots of your phases and funks faster than a kid can connect the numbered dots outlining a clown on those restaurant color pages...because she has something none of the friends in your other buckets has; she has the gift of time. She’s witness to your blips on a long range time line. When you were young and stupid and broke and didn’t know you were these things, you were smart enough to invested a decent chunk of metaphorical change into her and she you. And I’m a stinky business woman, but I do know that the secret to wealth is compounded interest and the secret to compounded interest is time and this is the very thing in this woman’s corner. Your friendship is rich. She is a historical friend.

The Just-the-Two-of-You Bucket

This friend fits into the puzzle of your life in the nooks and crannies of your individual time... the time when you are not attached to your partner or your children or your job. You learn that sharing your selves with each other without necessarily sharing your professions/families with each other works best for you both. Maybe your kids’ genders, ages, or interests don’t line up. Maybe your partner is a triathaloner and hers worships air conditioning. Maybe hers works selling hedge funds and yours is a hippy-at-heart hater of the stock market. Maybe she has explained a million times what her title means at work and you still don’t know exactly what she does at her job. Maybe you don’t even truly love the way she runs her home or her kids (It’s ok). Or maybe it’s other things like logistical things (living across town from one another) or selfish things (you don’t want to share her with anybody else) or depth-related things (you connect on such a deep level that the limited time you can scrape together you’d rather go undistractedly soulful with than wipe-kids-mouths-in-between-15-second-snippets-at-the-zoo with). For whatever reason, though, you and she work best when it is just the two of you. You don’t get to do “sharing life” with her in the sense that major chunks of your life go unobserved by her. But it’s kinda cool that way. It’s like getting to bring back your inner individual, exploring the parts that make you you without all those other PEOPLE around (as in: who you spend the other 14 hours of the day with) and without the pressure of ever including THEM in the mix. You get to drop your primary identifiers: wife, mother, employee, which - as a plus - means you get to drop the insecurities or challenges you might have surrounding these roles when engaging in conversations with this friend. You’ll talk about your kids/partner/job, but have the liberty to do a “show and tell” without the show. Time with Just-The-Two-Of-You friend usually looks like coffeeing or lunching or desserting or cocktailing or hobbying or movie-ing or booking or pedicuring or walking. Friends in other buckets are doing these things with you, too, but Just The Two of You friend is JUST doing that stuff with you. And it works.

The Mentor Bucket

The qualities of a mentor friend are different for each gal. Whether this relationship is helping to coach you in general life, work life, family life, parenting life, relationship life, athletic life, academic life, or religious life, this is a person who wants to see you thrive. She’s generally ahead of you in life, usually in her number of years on this popsicle stand but it could be that she is a peer right near you in age but with further experience with a certain thing. You choose her knowing she has lots to teach you and this does not threaten you; it inspires you. Key: there is no competition between you... and sometimes making your mentor friend 10-15 years older than you is what allows you to pull that off. You know you’ve found her when you start finding yourself using her truisms and quotes from her sage counsel in your personal life without even realizing it. She loves you enough to both encourage and cheerlead and, because there’s safety in this relationship, you listen hard most when she’s giving you a gentle or not-so-gentle kick in the pants. You two might do the things you do with other friends, or you might not have fun or recreation or social connectivity in your lives much together at all; it could be the phone alone is your means for fruitful conversation. Generally the advisor/advisee distinction is firm and unwavering and each knows who each is in the dynamic for a long period of time, and then sometimes magic happens and as time passes the age/experience gap evaporates in each of your minds. Then, you may find yourselves on more equal playing fields, equally counseling and loving on each other. That’s when you know you are fully ready to take on a mentee yourself. Your mentor bucket isn’t a bucket you need filled anymore. 

Being Served Bucket

In the beginning, this bucket is going to sound like the last one, the Mentor Bucket. The friend you find to fill this slot is one who is similarly invested in you, is looking out for you, is committed to your wellbeing and success. But here’s where it splits off: For a time, she is holding your head above the water so you don’t drown. Did you hear that? SO YOU DON’T DROWN. All friends find themselves taking turns in a friendship serving and being served. But this is serving SO YOU DON’T DROWN. There is usually a circumstance that puts you here... maybe your relationship with your partner is in shambles, or you are financially needing to pick up a second/third job or you made a crap move and got in trouble with the law. Maybe your mental health is below sea level or the scans you just received back informed you of a scary dark mass or you get into a scary relationship with a substance. Maybe you have four kids and find yourself single parenting when that wasn’t the plan at all. It’s dark here. And scary and hard as hell. For this reason, rarely do you find a friend like this straight off the cold shelf. What you are doing is shopping around in your current friendship cart...shifting a couple ladies from other buckets to this Being Served One. If done right, the friends you adopt into this sacred space are prepared for an unconventional relationship that provides little of the standard reciprocity in normal ones. Whereas the mentor set up is inarguably more-lopsided in your favor, the Being Served setup is like a teeter totter with an elephant on one side and a grain of quinoa on the other...balance is not the objective. In fact, her care for you feels sorta awful in the beginning, while you are getting used to your legs as the One Being Served. This woman drops off meals and groceries and prescriptions from the pharmacy. She drives you around and watches your kids while folding laundry and makes phone calls to the doctor and sends you links to Saturday night live spoofs to distract you and texts you to make sure you are alive at the end of each day. When you ask her how she is doing, she says “Fine and dandy” even when she has diarrhea and one of her kids is suspended from 5th grade. Because, for a stretch of time, you are the one in crisis.  Big crisis. And then, maybe in a decade, she will be the One In Crisis. And by then you’ll be back on your feet,  holding her head above the water.

Friend of Convenience Bucket

You never have to share with this woman that you’ve concocted this name for her; it’s not entirely flattering, I realize. Nonetheless, it is a friend type and it’s really not bad to be one or be known as one. They are the people who you don’t have to go out of your way to visit with... they are fully built in to your routine. She already works on your floor or sits at the same table with you at the cafeteria or bumps into you every morning at school drop off or swings on her front porch as you pull in the driveway each evening or sits next to you in Sunday School class or sweats her ass off with you each week at hot yoga. She is one step up from an acquaintance because, due to the fact that you regularly see one another, you surprise yourself with how much you know about her. You find yourselves along the journey sharing lots with one another - how to work out that work project pickle, what to do about your kid being the kindergarten biter, when and where you’re vacationing - but you never seem to make time to see her beyond both of your regular routines. Around the family dinner table you talk about stories from your day that include around her, but she may never actually be invited to your home and vice versa. She is lovely. She is cool. She is convenient.

Friendship through Family Bucket

These are the aunts, moms, cousins, nieces, and grandmas in our lives. Or corresponding in-laws. Or a woman that may as well be family, because you have adopted her as such. You get to spend the big days of the year with her - holidays, birthdays, graduations, weddings, special occasions - and you love one another greatly, blood love and friendship love all mingled into one. Best yet, while you may fade in and out of each others’ lives at points, you know she won’t ever slip away. The friends in this bucket don’t leave it; they’re lifers. 

The Holy Grail Bucket

You like her oodles. Your partner enjoys her partner. You respect their marriage and them yours. You like to do the same things. Your kids get along and require little direction when together. You like how they parent and they you. THIS, my friends, is the Holy Grail of friends. Picnic? This family. Baseball game? This family. Date night dinner out? This couple. Over for dinner while kids turn your basement upside down? This family. Birthday parties? This family. They fit well into your BIG life, all the pieces of it. And therefore, they are a shoe-in to most everything you think to do socially. Holy Grail, yes, Holy Grail.

Bosom Buddy Bucket

Please say you’ve watched Anne of Green Gables. Please? Because the Bosom Buddy relationship outlined in this dear story is the inspiration for this category. Basically, it’s this: 

A bosom buddy is an in-the-same-city friend who shares every little itty bitty detail of life with you. She knows your underwear size and may even purchase you a pair when they’re on clearance at Target. She knows your bizarreness in everyday life to the point that she can tell in a public setting when you discreetly toot. She knows that you yoga on Saturdays, have Taco themed nights with your family on Tuesdays, and that you generally grab a Starbucks as a treat to yourself before work on Fridays. When she calls during the day just to check in, you can come out with it, “I have a urinary tract infection and I am scratching my vagina off. How are you?” As you well see, there are no niceties. You know each others’ mannerisms, quirks, food preferences, times of the month, humors, phobias, and deepest secrets. You often wonder if you really needed to be married if sex weren’t in the picture, because most of your emotional needs can be realized through Bosom Buddy. She and you share a safety and a trust that is unshakable and in her you feel grounded, because now there’s one more person in the world, besides God and your spouse, who knows you to your core. 

So now I ask you: Is your friendship state in need of refreshment? Could it handle a little intentional shopping? And, if so, which friendship bucket are you hoping to fill?

And if you’re feeling low on energy and time to make that shopping endeavor happen, just remember the way you feel when you’ve found the perfect dress that matches your every curve. How much more enhanced and energy-filled will your life feel with a perfectly matched friend?

The Nerve of That Customer To Wear Cute Shoes

I’m in line with my husband while our four hooligans are seated at a table in the chipotle dining room wreaking noise havoc on all the innocent eaters nearby. Pointing to the shoes of the gentleman standing in front of me, I say to Scott, “I love those, I could see you wearing those.” Scott nods and then says about the shoes worn by two people ahead in line he’s been admiring, “I like those! They’re cute, right?”

I did not like this woman. 

I did not like this woman at all.

(“This woman” was wearing the “cute shoes.”)

Here were her two offenses: She was tan. She was athletic.

I, on the other hand, had surgery recently to remove an irregular mole and wear 50 spf from head to toe even on days I stay inside; I am the hue of loose leaf paper (not recycled).

Additionally, in an effort to lighten the pressures on myself this summer, I begrudgingly freed myself from one of my favorite hobbies: running. I haven’t worn a sports bra or sweated beyond what it takes to wheel the trash out in 5.5 weeks.

PS. My husband has a high regard for all people - any gender will do - who improve their bodies through fitness. 

My insecurity, as you can well see, on this chipotle evening was at an all-time high. 

All he said was that her bubbly little set of bright orange-and-pink sneakers were cute. 

I didn’t care. 

I didn’t like her.

Wait: there was a third strike; she appeared to be alone. As I glanced back at my offspring and saw them engaged in a game of makeshift bowling on the table surface with Campbell’s plastic princesses as the pins, I became further dignified in my ridiculous inner criticism of this athletic, tan, ALONE woman.

But she sorta redeemed herself, for when Scott and I were confusing the hell out of the 17 yr old tortilla dude by trying to order our 6 meals by both shouting out incoherent contributions (really, families ought to have just one chief fast food orderer), I decided to save our marriage and scoot on away to let him take over and as I passed her while slinking forward through the line, she gave me a knowing smile. It said all at once, “Why can’t it just be a tad easier?”

So, I returned to our table to break up the idiot bowling game feeling a bit sheepish about my lively and immature head dialogue about someone who is likely rather nice. 

AND THEN I see her cute little neon shoes saunter to a nearby table WITH HER DATE. 

#1) she’s, after all, not alone.

#2) her date is an autistic teenaged boy.

I proceed to observe her caringly spoon the contents of their shared burrito bowl into his mouth between bouts of his hand flapping, the two working in synch - a sign they’ve done this a million times before and will a million times more. 

And I eat. Every. Single. Word. 

I eat all the words my mind conjured up moments before in line.

And I eat all the ones this whole ragged-edged summer has brought up in me the past couple months.

The ones that paint me as a victim and the ones that are jealous of others’ simpler lives. The ones that repeat, “It’s too much. It’s just too much.” when I’m deep in an overwhelmed pit. The ones that wonder how everyone else is doing it. The ones that dismally lament, too concerned with self-involved junk to look up. The ones that shake me off my seat as the hero writer of my own story and instead leave me feeling helplessly trampled under offenders’ feet. (Cute shoe wearing feet, no less)

I got a good laugh last night. 

At myself, mainly.

Laugh at yourself, too. With kindness, if possible.

For our minds sometimes lure us unwittingly into ridiculously pathetic spaces and then feeds us good reasons to be there. 

Don’t listen. Leave it. 

And sachet back to your actual life, pale and mushy and perfect just the way it is.*

*note to reader: pale and mushy interchangeable. try filling in the blank.