friends
The hardest thing about moving is leaving all your friends. After nearly ten years in Virginia, I had garnered together a long list of cell phone numbers. Some of them were people I rarely, if ever called; some were people I called every day; some I called only occasionally, when all my regulars were unavailable. But all of them were people who at some point had liked me enough to trust me with their cell phone number, and that says something. On days when you feel like you have no friends, that says a lot.
Now I've moved, and my cell phone number collection has suddenly decreased in value. All of the numbers are long-distance now. Not that matters with a cell phone, of course, but it matters very much on a Friday night when you're trying to find someone to go see a movie with you.
A few weeks ago, I had nearly despaired of ever finding friends here. It's true that there aren't a lot of people in my age range. But, as is so often the case, despair was only the last step before breakthrough. In the past few weeks, I have finally started to make friends. I've started to meet people in different circles--which is important, because I like to be able to spend time with different types of people. I've started to meet people in different stages of life--which is important too, because I'm still in a stage where I feel very uncertain of exactly what life stage I'm actually in. I've even met a few people who like to watch 24, which I think is probably essential for my social health and happiness. But most important of all, I've met people--even absolute strangers--who, by the end of our conversation, have trusted me with their cell phone number. Not only that, but they told me to call.
Just the other day I met a girl in the teahouse. I'm starting to love the teahouse: it seems like every time I go there, I make a friend. After a long conversation about life, politics, economics, and neuroscience, we exchanged phone numbers. "Call me," she said. "Really: I mean it. I would really like to hang out with you."
For someone as gregarious as me, a statement like that is the most beautiful thing I could possibly hear.
Now I've moved, and my cell phone number collection has suddenly decreased in value. All of the numbers are long-distance now. Not that matters with a cell phone, of course, but it matters very much on a Friday night when you're trying to find someone to go see a movie with you.
A few weeks ago, I had nearly despaired of ever finding friends here. It's true that there aren't a lot of people in my age range. But, as is so often the case, despair was only the last step before breakthrough. In the past few weeks, I have finally started to make friends. I've started to meet people in different circles--which is important, because I like to be able to spend time with different types of people. I've started to meet people in different stages of life--which is important too, because I'm still in a stage where I feel very uncertain of exactly what life stage I'm actually in. I've even met a few people who like to watch 24, which I think is probably essential for my social health and happiness. But most important of all, I've met people--even absolute strangers--who, by the end of our conversation, have trusted me with their cell phone number. Not only that, but they told me to call.
Just the other day I met a girl in the teahouse. I'm starting to love the teahouse: it seems like every time I go there, I make a friend. After a long conversation about life, politics, economics, and neuroscience, we exchanged phone numbers. "Call me," she said. "Really: I mean it. I would really like to hang out with you."
For someone as gregarious as me, a statement like that is the most beautiful thing I could possibly hear.
posted by lisa c. baker at 9:29 PM
1 Comments:
yay for Georgia friends!
That is so encouraging, Lisa. I hope the friends keep coming for you. How cool is that?
-G
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