F is for…

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I’ve never been much good at making friends. A pattern that began years ago, of moving more often than most people, has caused a restlessness in my being, all the way to the core, that makes me antsy for major change every two years or so.

The same pattern is responsibly for my tendency to not make friends. I blame shyness, but the truth is, I’m so accustomed to the pattern of leaving people behind, shedding lifestyles the way a butterfly sheds its cocoon, that I long ago stopped trying. There are people I’d love to be closer to, but I really have no idea HOW. It’s a missing part of my social education.

The friends I do have, though they never are told often enough, are hugely important to me. But despite this, I tend to isolate myself. I like people, but only in small doses, and smaller groups. It’s not healthy behavior, and this was brought home to me, recently, when I realized my brother and sister-in-law have NO FRIENDS, just themselves and their children.

I find it very sad.

I also find it sad when a friend is hurting, and I don’t know how to help. The woman who is probably my best friend in life, even though she lives three states away, is in a bleak, bleak part of her life, and while I email, and call, I don’t know how to fix it, but I feel like I’m supposed to fix it.

On another note, I’ve been thinking about marriage, and remembering something a family friend told me when I was very young: the marriages that last, that really last, are the ones where the partners were friends first, but also where they have separate friends, as well.

Fuzzy and I are lucky to have both, even if we don’t avail ourselves of the latter often enough.