The other day I got to talk to my friend Hatcher on my drive to work, all 50 minutes of it.
This was so vital and so so so wonderful. She's my friend, and she rules.
Toward the end of the conversation, I told her that I was going out with my coworkers after work. I laughingly mentioned how my coworkers are potsmoking alcoholics. Hatcher made the observation that no matter where I go, I end up with potsmoking alcoholics somewhere in my life.
This is, indeed, very true.
Except for Hatcher, who is neither a potsmoker nor an alcoholic.
But it's true--I do end up with a disproportionate amount of these people in my life, probably because it feels like a big ol' family reunion, as that is most of my family anyway. Hatcher said, "I don't know too many people like that, probably because I couldn't relate to them--they would distrust me and I wouldn't know what to say to them." or something along those lines. But me (as clearly we all know, this blog is all about me)? Why in a room of my friends, family and coworkers I couldn't throw a stick without hitting one. I don't think this is necessarily a bad thing--they are my friends/family/coworkers, so I love them dearly. But this does seem to be the kind of people I know and am comfortable with. Very strange. It's hard to balance who I am now with the stories of who I was--how does one relate without reliving?
I believe it is so so so important to know what you are saved from. To stand on that line and look in the eye of the could have been and realize just how held onto you are; how the life you live is one of a rescued mess. And to look at others and simply love them where they are and not how you'd want them to be.
I dunno.
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