Heartwoven

One day at lunch, about 4 years ago, I am sitting with a friend.

He and I are laughing and discussing our lives. He is telling me about his family and his girlfriend. He is explaining to me how and why he became an English teacher. He is sharing his favorite books.

I am completely ensconced in balancing the teaching of five classes and caring for a two year old. If the topic doesn’t center around poop, milk consumption, or height/weight percentile, I don’t feel qualified to partake. I am overwhelmed with running a house and running a classroom. I have no room in my brain for contemplation of politics, philosophy or comedy.

And then he asks me: “What are your dreams?”

I answer him half-jokingly: “8 hours of sleep. In a row. By myself. In a bed. On a tropical island.”

He stares at me and responds, slowly: “No, like, really. What do you strive for? What are your goals? What are your dreams? “

I can’t believe he is serious. Has he seen me? I’m haggard. I take a look at his face. See him waiting patiently for my answer.

I think.

I realize that I have no idea.

And I start to cry.

I explain to him that I haven’t given a thought to my dreams for as long as I can remember. He responds with a gentle explanation of motivation and sense of self.

His words resonate. Deeply. He tells me that I am funny and that I need to laugh. He invites me to audition for his Improv group. He hands me a chance.

He offers a gift.

I take it.

Weeks later, I attend the audition. I am accepted. Suddenly, I have comedy and friendship and Portsmouth and Sunday afternoon rehearsals. I have Strawberry Banke and Tuesday evening performances. I feel there is some light and balance again.

7 years prior to that lunchtime revelation, I am living in an apartment in Brookline with my best friend. We are both working. I commute to Boston daily. We come home and order chinese food. We go out and drink too much and dance too hard. We watch Friends. Sex and The City.

I am dating the man who is to become my husband. I am spending less and less time at home. More and more time at his apartment across town.

One evening, when I call my girlfriend to tell her not to expect me, I sense hurt in her voice. We have a candid conversation about being alone. She explains to me what it means to be a good friend. She shares knowledge with me that her mother shared with her about the importance of girlfriends.

At the time I feel guilty. I try to comprehend

Now, 12 years later, I understand. Our friendship is something we have cultivated. I can drop right into her arms. I have held her in mine. We have walked each other through incredibly difficult paths and confided our deepest fears.

She takes my hand and looks in my eyes and sees me. She speaks truth to me.

And, in return, I see her.

I offer her truth when she needs it.

Laughter when it’s right.

Just a few days ago, I am meeting one of my oldest friends for coffee. We have plans to network and catch up. Instead, after trading stories of our children, he mentions some observations he has. He speaks candidly. I am able to listen.

He offers advice.

I am able to hear.

Now, on a warm summer night, I calmly sit next to an open window and contemplate relationship. I think about the different roles we play in the lives of others. I consider why those we love are sent our way.

I think that the individuals who are meant to play critical roles in our lives do not arrive in error. I am positive there is a fate to it.   

My lunch-buddy asked a question of dreams and educated me about honoring self.

My roommate walked me through the topic of loneliness and showed me how to be a best friend.

My coffee-partner made an observation and opened my mind to patience.

My friendships have taught me about gifts of words and trust; those relationships have demonstrated the importance of giving those words to one in whom you can bestow that trust.

I have been helped to understand that the greatest reward is in the act of giving a gift without the expectation of anything in return.

It’s up to us to accept it.