Somewhere between jumping on and off the A and the C and sometimes the F if I need to, I realize that the Benjamin Button curse did not hit me yet, and I may just be getting older. Definitely not a problem. Well, it wasn’t an issue until I began looking around at the friendships I created. Some in the heat of the moment, some while sitting in a restaurant $1 short on the bill and having to ask the people next to me, and some while coloring inside the line and being happy about it when Mrs. Fisher clapped for me.
I don’t want all these people here when I cruise into 30, hoping the cops no longer see me as a threat. Something like Mt. St. Helens, I will be. I’ve been weeding out the idiots, the ignorant, the depressed, and those who look at me in awe when I tell them I’m getting on a plane. The latter: I don’t want to be surrounded by people who can’t see possibilities for themselves. I’m pushing all my friends to get passports. That’s important to me. At dinner last Sunday with 8 of the best people I know, we laughed, and drank and drank and laughed a bit more then shared some of the best food we had ever tasted. And it hit me: this is how I want to spend my days; laughing with people who love to laugh, eating with people who appreciate good food, and drinking with people who will make sure I get to the train safely if I don’t know my limit on tequila.
“She is a friend of mind. She gather me, man. The pieces I am, she gather them and give them back to me in all the right order. It’s good, you know, when you got a woman who is a friend of your mind.” – toni morrison.
I want to say that about every friend I have at the end of this year. I remember being 21 and having a million people who would tie ropes around my sentences and hang there for days. That was a great feeling for me. Now, though, it’s not as important to have a ton of friends as it is to have good ones; those who gather me. Those friends of my mind who make me smile randomly while sitting in a middle seat 2,000 miles and 25,000 feet above them.
Living in this Post-Amy society, there must exist those folks who are going to let you know when now is just not the right time to make that move to the stage. You’re stumbling, and the people do not need to see you like this. The world is full of “friends” of suicide victims thinking “if I had only made that drive over there, I could have done something.” At 20, I was that.
With tact, exit from the world I’ve created, and we never have to speak of those good times again.