Caravan
God, the weekend went fast. So fast, in fact, that it hardly seems right that I have to start a brand-new week tomorrow with a Monday, of all things, only to do it all again for five more days. Oh, excuse me – FOUR more days, because next weekend, we’re going to Pennsylvania to visit my dad’s side of the family, and this time we’re flying Continental, which is greatly disappointing, even though the flight was only $100. It’s just that I’ve become really, really addicted to watching “What Not to Wear” while I fly, and I don’t like to travel without Stacy and Clinton, especially during take off.
The weekend was the most compressed sort of wonderful, however, and even though I hardly felt like I spent quality time with anyone, I loved every second of the time I did spend with everyone. I also learned that I really and truly suck at Wii, and actually fell into the coffee table while trying to play tennis, prompting my 9 year-old nephew, who is on a Yoda kick, to announce sadly, “Stink at tennis, you really do,” followed by a decidedly Yodish grunt and groan. Heh. I miss my family.
Somewhat separately, I have a hard time understanding people who prefer large groups of people and lots of acquaintances, as opposed to a few very close friends – it’s not that I judge, it’s that it’s so different from how I, um, roll. I have no desire to have lots and lots of friends – I never have – and prefer instead to have very, very few friends that are of the more (oh my God) intimate variety. I’m certainly not beating away friendships by the dozen, and this isn’t even something I consciously choose on a daily basis, it’s just the way it works out for me, and I’m not satisfied until that’s the case. Quantitatively speaking, it seems easier to have fewer friends, but qualitatively, well, as you can imagine, it’s that much harder, because you just don’t click like that with everyone. I’m a bit of a selfish friend in that I prefer to spend time with my friends in relative seclusion, i.e., not in a large group where I have to compete with 100 other people to have a quality conversation. It goes back to that whole intimacy (I’m thinking of lube! And yet there is no other word!) thing, I suppose. Well, that, and I’m an outgoing introvert, and while I can fake my way through large crowds, inside I am breaking out in hives, wishing I could just get the hell out of there and sit in someone’s living room eating Doritos and drinking wine, preferably of the boxed variety, maybe from a nice Target vintage.
It goes without saying that I haven’t found any really close friends since we’ve lived here. It’s no longer the austere frozen tundra of loneliness it once was – I do have really friendly acquaintances here and there; I have a nice, if odd, little support system in my neighborhood, comprising of people of all ages; and God knows, I meet more people through my work than I know what to do with, even if most of them are over 80 – but I don’t have anyone I’d get on a plane and drive down the Route 1 Automile in my sister’s purple minivan for, if you know what I’m saying, and I doubt you do, because, really, a purple minivan.
And God, I don’t even know where I’m going with this except to say while it’s tempting to be very sad that I don’t have any really close friends nearby, the thing is, I’m not sad at all, I’m just very, very grateful. I have at least three women for whom I would gladly drive 3,000 miles in a purple minivan even if it was just for five minutes of their company, and I’m pretty sure they would for me, too. I’m not sure everyone is that lucky, and I’m just so glad they’re there, no matter where they live.
*Van Morrison
9 comments March 11th, 2007