I used to think that it was hard to make friends after a certain age; that you kept your old friends and after that, you only made acquaintances – those ‘hi-hello’ friends who only
see you with your make-up on, and never come to your house without it looking like something from the cover of Ideal Home, even if only the budget edition.
But I think you and I are going to be good friends – the make-up-less, messy house, no-political-correctness type. You strike me as that kind of person. I am too.
It’s refreshing, isn’t it? To be you; to be unbothered by the silences that punctuate conversation; to be honest about your opinions without intimidating or feeling intimidated; to raise your voice in excitement without being afraid of coming across as loud or – that word J called me the other day – abrasive. Yes, me. I know! Who would have thought?
I like the way you looked straight at me as you spoke, I like even more that you are honest about your mistakes, and open about your ambitions. It’s rare to meet people who are. We’re all busy making sure our masks don’t slip; checking that the veneer is perfectly in place, perhaps based on past experience, perhaps from unfounded fear… But sometimes, when we encounter authenticity, we get the permission to be ourselves. Thanks for giving me the permission. I grabbed it gladly. It was ice cold water on a very hot day.
I would say God bless you, but then I get the feeling you’re not into God. That’s fine, I am. And in the spirit of authenticity, I’m comfortable in my spiritual status. For me, it consists of way more than rituals and platitudes; hopefully, as we continue in honest friendship, you’ll see how and possibly why.
I must say, it was great to meet you. Honestly, it was, and I’m not lying through my teeth in the name of politeness. I don’t have to. Yay!