|What 30-year-old friendship looks like (with moonshine!)|
The formative years are, well, formative: I had the good fortune to reconnect with my college friends, in person, for a girls’ weekend this year and the concentrated togetherness was a pure gift. What sums it up is how deep those bonds of friendship remain after all of these years. The same is true for my special group of high school friends. And as I watch my children in their formative years, I see how that bond is minted. Everything is so raw and exposed in our teens and twenties. Emotions are deeper and experiences, all of which are new, seem to be etched with a sharper point. Even the music we listened to stays with us 30 years later; lyrics to songs from those years are crystal clear whereas my internet passwords are forgotten in weeks. The deep friendships we made then come back in a rush when we gather in a room or restaurant and find ourselves figuratively sprawled out in the dorm triple, laughing and remembering. But real life is all around us and, even though my friends and I live long distances apart, their joys are my joys and their losses are my own. With them, the highs are higher and the lows are more manageable.
The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree: This reminder has been making itself known to me for many years. But this year was particularly convincing as adults in positions to evaluate my boys (i.e., school counselors) offered their opinions on my boys’ personalities. Not only do they get my cowlicks, fair skin, perfectionism (intermittently dispersed), demanding self-criticism (also not equally distributed), clicking jaw (1 out of 3), and under-weight status (with a vengeance), but now I’ve sat and listened to evaluations that sound like my own self-analysis. Hopefully all of the good stuff will outweigh the stuff I wish I could have kept out of the gene pool!
You can teach an old dog new tricks: I found myself presented with a challenge at work that was squarely outside of my comfort zone – to create animated videos for a marketing campaign to generate leads. I tried to pass the hot potato back to our graphic designer, but she was swamped. Under the eyes of a new boss, I realized it was sink or swim. So I dove in and what began as 3 little videos turned into 6 after my reputation spread. Now it is up to 7 and growing. New software learned and new right hemisphere brain functionality discovered and my little videos supported the campaign and have ended up on the new corporate website unveiled this week. As an observer, I also “watched” from afar as my aunt in DC (who is in no way an “old dog”, but she made a brave change in her life) made the huge move from her house of 40 years to a condo that is more conducive to her and my uncle’s lifestyle. Those passageways through dark hallways imprinted in memory after so many early mornings and late night checks on the kids, that familiar route to the grocery store and Metro stop, that same parking spot, the comforting sounds of each hinge squeak and floorboard creak, the urban identity embraced and emboldened in a changing world, the smells and living embedded in memory, all lovingly handed off to a new young family with the hope that it will be for them the comfort zone, the family hub, and shelter in storms that it was for my extended family.
Laughter is the best medicine: Sometimes it is just a table cloth covering a cracked and damaged table. Other times the laughter actually caulks and mends the cracks. Sometimes the covering is good enough, for the moment. Laughter is a godsend in the teen-raising world, helping to not take myself or the minor troubles that arise too seriously. Recognizing the minor from the major troubles is another whole story. If laughter were as quick as suppressed grief, I’d be in much better shape to counter the stubbornly strong and unpredictable hold that grief has on me, pulling the tablecloth off way too often for my liking. But I work toward the constant goal of living in the moment and face life with a smile. At the end of the day, laughter is a survival skill. And I was groomed all my life to love to laugh. So if it is all that is left. Then maybe laughter is enough.