I lift my hand hesitantly and wave goodbye, tearful sobs finally ending. The early morning is cold and barely light. I slide close to my husband and rest my face on his bicep. The silver and black sedans pulling away are full to the tip top. The friends we loved with our hearts wide open will have to roll down the windows and peel out belongings like layers of onion when they arrive at their new home.
Walking up our porch stairs, I tell Dan, “I suppose I’ll send out an open audition for someone to play the role of best friend in my long-running production of ‘Life in NJ’.” Unlike me, Dan does not feel the need for a large supporting cast. He likes his stage kept simple and uncomplicated. But he smiles at my joke. He knows me.
My parents sum up my childhood tendency by telling a story I don’t remember first hand. “When we first moved to the Philippines, at the ripe age of four, she walked out on the back balcony and hollered, ‘Somebody come play with me!’”
Finding new friends quickly was an act repeated many times growing up. Every three years the USMC gave my father new orders. Our few goods were packed in brown cardboard and sent halfway around the world, across the country, or at least to a new state. We quickly settled in at a new church, new school, and new neighborhood; each repeat of this performance slicing off another sliver of my mother’s emotional stamina.
Now I’m the one who stays and friends enter and exit from the wings while I watch them come and go. Each time I say goodbye I wonder if I should open wide my heart again. But can I adopt my husband’s self-sufficiency?
My mind turns to a recent conversation. Stacy tells me she needs to stop investing in the people who are draining her emotional energy. Knowing a little of what’s going on with her, I get a mental picture of us performing THE LIFE CHANGING MAGIC OF TIDYING UP/ RELATIONSHIP EDITION. We wrap arms around each person in our life and ask, “Does this give me joy?” If yes, we find the perfect place to organize them with like-minded friends. If no, we thank them for being part of our past and wish them well in their future. Stacy says that’s not exactly what she had in mind.
Back in the kitchen I notice a bag of chocolates and a candle my moving friend plunked down on my counter. Not everything fit in the black sedan and she had to prioritize what gave her joy and leave the rest—this stuff—with me.
I may not remember arriving in the Philippines, but the memory of leaving our church in Olongapo is crystal clear, the first place I remember departing. My parents gave freely to the tiny open-aired church, and continued supporting them for many years. Prompted by her mother, my beautiful brown friend with long shining black hair gives a quick stream of Tagalog in protest; I don’t understand her. She removes her prized shell lei and places it around my neck. I am sure the tears are not for me but for the treasure she is sending to New York. How many times I’ve wished I knew to place it back around her neck and let her watch me go with a heart wide open.
Try This: What images do you conjure when you think about “Sparking Joy” in your relationships?
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