I’m lucky enough to have amazing friends, in all locations. My phone, twitter feed, and face book page is a constant stream of support, love, frivolity and fun and for that I’m grateful! I’ve made some really good life long friends since moving to the south coast in the last 5 years and have been lucky enough to feel like I’ve known some of them forever – which is lovely.
Then, there are my oldest friends, the ones that have been around since, what feels like the beginning of time. The ones that sometimes know me better than I know myself. The ones that maybe knew me as the school friend/the radio girl/the wannabe singer/the party girl/the redcoat/the doting girlfriend/the broken-hearted/the single gal – the ones that saw me through every chapter, the chapters that even I may have forgotten.
In occasional times of confusion/hysteria/angst my oldest BFF’s will often wrench in with a pep talk; they know when I’m bluffing, when I really like a guy, when I don’t like a guy, why I think something, why I’m giddy/not giddy (the list goes on) even before I do, and that’s because they have the history. They may not have all the answers but they mostly don’t need to work me out, they’ve done their research and in doing so though they sort me out in a matter of minutes. I don’t even need to recap them on anything, they have it logged.
Just a five-minute catch up can focus me and remind me who I am; we can so easily forget in the chaos of every day life and sometimes familiarity is a breath of fresh air. Someone you don’t have to explain yourself to, who just brings you back to basics with their inside knowledge of you, is sometimes just what the doctor ordered.