I must look forlorn and in need of a new friend. I get it, “people” are trying to provide encouragement and offer “comforting words” when I’m down, but what the hell? I’m 57 years old. I miss my best friend.
You don’t go to the nearest mall and pick out a new best friend off the shelf, or snatch one up out of the nearest Starbucks and ask them, “Will you be my new best friend?” Best friends aren’t found on Facebook, God forbid! Most days, I’d rather not read the status updates some choose to post, for all the world to see.
At 57, with 58 right around the corner, I’m not going out searching for my next best friend! When welling-meaning people tell me “make new friends,” I want to scream! Best friends aren’t made, they’re cultivated over a lifetime, through trials, tribulations, and celebrations of one’s life. Growing and changing, in sync with each other to the point you think like the other. You finish each others sentences, as if you developed ESP, knowing when to call, because “you had a feeling.”
By the time you reach my age, most of the drama, crises and milestones have come and gone. At least you hope so, you’re more mellow, ready to relax and enjoy the ride. I want to sit back with my friend, laugh at ourselves and relive all the memories, but I you can’t because she’s gone, and it sucks.
Play nice and I can have a new best friend! Really? Seriously? I don’t have a lifetime left.