Friends
I always had friends. Does that sound like a strange statement? I'm sure we all know someone who we'd describe as a "loner". I wasn't a loner. I enjoyed being around people, but for the most part, I enjoyed being around one person at a time. I tend to feel lost in a crowd.
When I was growing up, I had my best friend from the neighborhood. Then I had a best friend from school. Then I had my best friend from band. My best friend from cheerleading. But most of my friends didn't know each other. So at any given time, I was with only one person at a time. I could navigate within groups but I always felt like an outsider.
In junior high, I made the cheerleading squad. I knew some of the girls from classes, but others I didn't know because they were in different grades. I never felt comfortable being part of the entire group. I preferred to talk to the girls I knew, usually one at a time.
In high school in Mexico, I joined a dance group. The dance group had a core group of dancers who had been part of the group for a couple of years. I came in with the new cohort. I made friends with the new dancers, but I never felt comfortable with the core group. The male dancers from the new cohort were enthusiastically received by the core group - because they were males. There is not a dance group on earth that couldn't use more males. But we women were tolerated at best, because we were the new competition.
In college, I started studying in Mexico. Classes were divided by major. I was in architecture, so my class was comprised of all the architecture students. I got to know some of them and some of them knew students from other majors, so I got to know a lot of the engineering students. It was a rather small college so during breaks we all hung out in an amorphous blob. One day, there was a small group of us outside the main building. One guy turned to me and asked me who I hung out with (meaning who was my group of friends, as a way to identify me). Another guy was sitting next to me and I answered "no one" at the same time he answered "everyone". We turned to look at each other, surprised by what the other had answered.
That was the first time in my life I began to think about who I hung out with and what other people perceived. That was the first time I realized that although I like being around people, I am usually at the edge of a group of people. I like talking to people, but to only one or two at a time. And I have no desire to be the center of attention.
This worked out for me. I had my friends, I felt accepted, and I could go to parties and say hello to a bunch of people before I drifted to the periphery and found someone to have a conversation with.
When I moved to Foreign Country the first time with Ex-husband, I had a difficult time coping. I had just graduated from my Masters program where I had been told over and over by supervisors, instructors and mentors, what a great teacher I was. And now I was in a new environment where I felt like I was drowning. I was completely unaware of the cultural constraints I was working under and until I figured that out, it was a very difficult first year for me.
When I would get home from a particularly stressful day, I would vent to Ex-husband, who was likely going through his own stresses, although he didn't share them with me. One day, after I had wound myself down a bit complaining about how difficult my life was, Ex-husband turned and told me that I couldn't expect him to be my everything. I needed to go find some female friends. I needed other people to talk to besides him.
That felt like a slap in the face, and yet I recognized the truth in what he was saying. I did talk to him as if he was my best girlfriend. And I would get frustrated when he didn't answer the way I needed him to. It was unfair to him. I vowed to go find some female friends.
In Foreign Country, I lived on the university campus, which conveniently came with a built-in community. I didn't have to search far for friends. I was surrounded by people I worked with who lived in close proximity. I just needed to open up. So I did. I started going to yoga class. I volunteered to edit the community newsletter. I started treating my coworkers as more like friends. And that did improve my life.
When Ex-husband and I decided to divorce, those friendships I had cultivated became my lifeline. I had never had to depend on others for emotional support as I did at that point in my life. It was scary to ask for help, but I did it and it was a transformative experience.
We women seem to take on every responsibility that comes our way as a matter of course. We are taught by society that we need to say yes. We need to be available. We need to help whoever needs help. But it can never be us. We are taught that asking for help is weak. And we are not allowed to be weak. Well, my divorce taught me that I was allowed to be weak. I was allowed to ask for help. And it showed me just how vital my friendships were.
All the women who became my support network during and after that time were women I had known for a few years. After all, Ex-husband and I had lived on that university campus, in Foreign Country, for five years. However, after opening myself up to ask for their support, my friendships because so much stronger. And for the first time in my life, all of my closest friends all knew each other! This had never happened before!
One year for my birthday, we arranged to go out clubbing. About half a dozen of us went out to a beach club. As I looked around at my group of friends and listened to them talk to each other about shared experiences from a common location, I marveled at how this came together. I didn't need to introduce anyone to anyone. They all knew each other! They knew each others' quirks. They got each others' jokes! They knew who the others were talking about! We had a common point of reference!
In the 2+ years that I continued to live in Foreign Country after my divorce, these were the women that I depended on. These were the friends I knew I could call, text, or visit whenever I needed to. I could show up at their house in my pajamas and get a hug. I could invite them over for dinner and know they'd walk in and help themselves to a drink from my fridge. I could ask any of them out on a date when I had no one to go with. Several people had keys to my house and on more than one occasion, I came home from work to find someone else already there. I loved it. That was a life I had always wanted and had never been able to have: a life where I was part of a community.
And since leaving that community, I don't think I'll ever have it again. Modern western society doesn't quite work like that, even if a very popular 90s TV show would like us to believe it could exist, in New York City, of all places.
But that's okay. I had that experience. It was amazing. And nothing can ever take the memories away.
