Mourning the loss of a friend

Months ago, a long-time friend of mine ended our relationship. It was, at first, a shock to my system as I had enjoyed nearly 23 years of memories and family ties knowing and thinking about this friend. I didn't know you could mourn the loss of someone living until I no longer was a part of her life any longer and I knew from that point on, I would no longer be invited back into her life.

The cirtumstances of the break up are somewhat troubling since it was a complete misunderstanding of impressions. As she tightly wove her belief system into a porfolio of volunteerism, selflessness and the stuff that Mother Theresa is made out of, over the years, she also became blind to her own biases. I don't need to spill all of the facts, but her judgement about my choices became painfully clear one night over a short dinner, laced with a well intended conversation and an attempt to connect ourselves and our lives after a decade of separation. Afterwards, I learned that as I have so often preached to others about open mindedness and the power of understanding "the other side", I was a victim of her own judgement, someone who had also preached the same.

I'm not really sure if this person will ever return to my life. In addition to losing her as a friend, I also mourn the fact that I cannot pass through a difficult time in her life with her, giving her the support she may need. Growing older affords us new opportunities for new beginnings which includes meeting new people and moving forward. It also bears the scares of relationships from the past that will always impact our lives, even without that person we once loved.

Suburbia

My friends and I drove into the city to visit coffee houses and smoke when I was in high school. We would drive for 40 minutes to reach only one venue. Just to sit for several hours and smoke.

Somehow, this separated us from the suburban lifestyle we all wanted to ignore. We thought that by denying our suburban heritage, somehow, we were better than the other kids in school. We wanted to be different. I remember once how we made fun of some of the jocks that we called "sportos". There were a few that had literally NEVER driven into the city from their suburb on their own. Granted, they had only been the lucky owner of a driver's license for less than a year at that point but the point was, these kids didn't look to live outside of Oakdale. It was sad.

Our egos boomed everytime we hit the city limits. We were in the city, a place where culture and teenage independence aligned quite nicely. It also gave us a respite to date, gossip, smoke, drink and experiment with our own personalities. We were no longer bound by the suffocating boredom we had all come to know in the suburbs.

At one point, I had strived so hard to become different from everyone else in school that my mom suggested I wear her old Girl Scout outfit from the 50's - a fashion statement that "no one else was going to be doing." This recommendation/observation was given to me after my mom had witnessed several hours of me and my best friend shopping in the mall, vintage stores, strip malls, Uptown, Downtown - you name it, I had been there. All of those places felt like someone had either worn it, scene it, done it already and nothing appealed to me. It was my lowest moment. Not because my mom was trying to hand out fashion advice but because I had realized that for all the months of my freshman year, striving so hard to stand out from everyone, I realized there are thousands more like me that are looking for something else. I wasn't the only one but I really wanted to be. I wanted unique, original, cool, admiration from others without admitting it, personality, beauty, perfection - anything to not just be plain old me. Not to mention, anything "cool" or "unique" had a high price tag associated with it. Something I still loathe about fashion and the industry. The more unique, the more you pay.

It was 1994 and I was 15 years old. I hated life and I hated living in the suburbs. Nothing could have been more sterile and uncreative. I was dying to get out of my own skin.