My People Are The Best People

I use that phrase a lot when I talk about my friends. “My people are the best people.” A simple phrase that means everything.

When you start out as a child making friends, you don’t realize how much it will mean in 10 years that they still know your name. If they’re still nice to you when you reach high school, you’ve hit the jackpot.

I also identified as the “weird” kid. I read a lot at a young age and before a lot of my peers. I have always been loud when excited and quiet when I’m getting the lay of the land. I am social and also reclusive. I am individual to a fault (if that’s even possible). I have always been super inquisitive which has been mistrued as annoying, plying, and even insubordinate n my life.

I moved at age 8 and then again at age 14. So I dealt with the fun that changing schools and neighborhoods brings. In high school, I chose to surround myself with some, well for lack of a better word, assholes.

In the end, there is a pretty large group of people I went to high school with that as an adult I am friendly with. But there are only two that were my friends then, knew me then, and are still kicking around now (they count in the “my people” group.)

I purposely went to school away from home. I only applied to one school in my state because my advisors begged me too. I quickly accepted the offer to go to a tiny little Catholic college just one state away and moved in just shy of three months after graduation.

The first person I met was my RA. And somehow, we became friends.

It started because she had a photo of herself with Joey McIntyre and I am a Blockhead for life. We figured out that she lived super close to me, went to the same high school as my Dad, and it seemed insane that we hadn’t crossed paths before.

She was my savior more than once during the two years I spent at that school.

I left the same year she graduated and we kept in touch.

I saw her a couple times and then I lost her number.

About a year later, I ran into her at my crappy retail gig and we started hanging out.

And that’s it. I met her 16 years ago and we are still friends. And I mean real, true, friends.

Now, I am not negating that I have friends that I’ve known longer or that they are important to me, but I was compelled to gush about this particular person because she did something amazingly thoughtful and I am still all shocked and super excited about it.

Somehow, she seems to always know what I need. I believe that I have a similar trait. I’ve always prided myself on being a good friend.

We are travel buddies because we 100% get how the other one operates.

we have had few arguments and all of them ended in a real conversation that is since chuckled about.

I remember her showing up at a party years ago and escorting me out. I didn’t ask her to. I had my car with me and I was at a friend’s home I would’ve stayed in if needed. But there was some drama brewing and when she sent me a random “whatcha doing?” text, my response made her drive over and steal me.

She has taken me drunk shopping so I could sober up before I went home.

There have been many occasions of us just aimlessly riding around to take a break from life.

We talk so often that when we go a couple of days without saying hello, it feels insane.

I have had an emotional year. In fact, I’ve had an emotional couple of years. Emotions are not something I am 100% comfortable expressing, even at 34.

She has gone through her own emotional years. Her own craziness.

We attempted to take a real break from life in March and treated ourselves to a vacation. We were so exhausted halfway through, it’s a wonder we even made it. And then we had the trip home from hell. Not to mention, we were kinnnnd of broke.

We’ve been talking about taking a day trip to one of our closer to home favorite places. We already determined we’re spending her birthday next month at the beach (weather had better cooperate with that). So when she texted me with a list of dates a few weeks back, I figured we were probably planning a day to go play in our old college town.

I am caretaker to my Mom. She is in no way as bad off as she was a couple of years back but in true Mom fashion, she was curious about what we were doing next weekend on our little adventure. I told her that I didn’t really ask I just knew that it was a day trip. She wanted a more definitive time line to ease her own anxiety so I asked my friend what was up.

She replied that she really felt I needed a break from life so we would be heading to Boston in the afternoon and we’d be home late that evening because we have tickets to see Wicked.

I really do need a break. In a whole mess of ways. That’s part of why I love to read so much: the escape. The fact that she knew that and planned something like this, just speaks to why I say my people are the best people.

Because they are.

I am a musical nerd and haven’t seen Wicked yet. I’m so pumped about it and also shocked about it. I didn’t expect such a gesture.

I don’t know why though.  This is the same friend that’s helped me take a break throughout 16 years. Saved me from drunk disasters. Acted as my GPS before you could actually afford GPS.

She was the friend that came to the hospital the night my Dad passed away. She sat in a waiting room alone in a hospital I know she hates to be in for the same reasons I do and refused to leave until we were ready to leave.

Really that whole experience solidified the my people are the best people thing. The fact that my friends came out and helped in the ways they did meant a lot. It was nice to keep shocking my family. They apparently didn’t realize my friends were quite so awesome.

And this coming weekend, I get to go and have adventure with my peep. I get to know that we’ll have fun and be obnoxious and laugh our asses off because that’s what it’s like when we’re together.

I get to know that I wont have to do anything for anyone else that day.

and I get to see Wicked! With a friend that will totally sing along with me.

I am excited. I am humbled. I am grateful. I am blessed.

My people are the best people.

 

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