This Girl That Place

My computer was whisked away at work today to be scrubbed because of a security violation in the building. I sat there at my desk, pouting, and mean mugging the room full of people who still had their computers from the crack between my two now powerless, blacked out, monitors. I decided to leave work for the day when I started taking pictures of the spot where my CPU had sat pre abduction and sending them to friends like it was the largest injustice of my life. Yeah….it was time to go.

Someone asked me how I wasn’t absolutely pissed off. I like to think I don’t have the ability to get mad but I threw a pretty good fit…a silent fit but still a fit but that’s not the same as being mad….right? I kind of stood back for a minute and thought shit, am I that much of a selfish person that something as silly as not having a computer is worth all that?! Nah (at least I don’t think so) I’m a different kind of selfish person. Not in a narcissistic or childish way. I’m selfish with the people I have in my life. I want them to stay who they are to me just the way they are.

Growing up my daughter had a small white box decorated with stickers and hearts/smiley faces drawn with fluorescent highlighters. Inside of it were her “treasures”. Movie ticket stubs, a rock, blurry pictures, a silly note, pony tail holders, etc. To me, it was junk but to her, everyone of those things meant something to her. It was ticket stub from a movie where she sat three rows behind her 7th grade crush or the rock she found walking around the neighborhood with a friend when they were telling  each other their secrets and those blurry pics-they were horrible quality because they were laughing so hard when they took them. I can relate to that junk now- all those things represent a moment in time that meant something and that’s how I feel about people in my life.

I have people who ignite my smile when they enter a room or when I see a notification from them on my phone. Others I could sit next to and not speak but a few words and just being in their presence resets my soul. There are some that I will stand on the sidelines and cheer on for as long as they are running the race and conquering life’s hurdles. The ones who quote the same movies and crack up at ridiculous puns-who wouldn’t love that kind of carefree, corny, company? The family that lets me invite myself over for dinner and I feel like I’ve come home when I walk through the door.  Let me not forget the ones whose sarcastic banter, witty conversations, and stupid questions about Superman from the bathroom, literally, are some of the odd things that bring me joy.  And then, there are those with whom the word chemistry doesn’t do justice.

Age, emotional maturity, circumstances, or perhaps it’s a combination of the three that has given me the freedom to have intimate friendships. When you hear the word intimacy the first thought is usually naked and sweaty in bed or bent over the couch-well at least for me that’s what I use to think. Sex and intimacy were interchangeable; they were synonyms. For me, today, I don’t believe I need one to have the other. Intimacy isn’t who you let touch you physically. Intimacy is who you text in the middle of the night because your brain won’t shut up. It’s who you talk to about what you really want and why you’re scared to go for it. It’s who you give your attention to when other people are asking for it. And it’s the person who may very well sit in the back of your mind no matter what else you have going on. I love the people in my life, male or female, who are those things to me. As an outsider looking in it would be easy to say yep, nothing but glaring intimacy issues here or the biggest friend zone in history but there are no issues or booming friend zones- just a self awareness of the depth and the relief of having friendships on that level. There might be a day where sex and my definition of intimacy join forces or maybe it will be vice versa-who knows.

They say it’s better to have four quarters instead of a hundred pennies in reference to the number of friends a person has. I have my core group, my squad, and they are the epitome of fucking cool. They know the days on the calendar that are harder than others, they encourage the act of living mistakes and all, and they never hesitate to remind me that people with bad eyebrows don’t know shit about life. They tell me I’m strong and I tell them they are the strong ones for seeing me through two years of wilder changes than I ever imagined.

I feel like I have more than four quarters….I feel like I have a roll of them, maybe even two and I’ll hold all of them tightly in my hand. I couldn’t imagine losing one laugh, smile, or reason why I wake up and try this life thing again and again. I wouldn’t want to miss out on the sound of a voice, a fake snake in my desk drawer, or sunset side by side at the lake. I want to be there for the good stuff and cuss, fight, or fuss with them at the not so good stuff. High fives after a PT test, sharing little pieces of my own experiences that helped me grow, random hugs, and silly snapchats and texts with excessive emojis……those, every one of those, have been and will continue to be the building blocks from which I continue to rebuild my life; rebuild myself.