A reason, a season, a lifetime

This morning I had breakfast with friends.  I love having breakfast with friends.  And having breakfast with these friends is always fun because these girls have known me for 31 years.  Well, one of them has.  One has known me for 26 years, and the other for 22 years.  Whatever.  It’s a long time in anyone’s book.  Especially when you’re 38.  I have another close friend who has known me for 26 years, but she lives interstate and when she visits, we always catch up.

I adore making new friends and I always feel extremely fortunate when someone expresses an interest in being friends with me.  Call it low self-confidence, call it what you like, but I am always pleasantly surprised.

When I was in my final year of high school, I naively assumed that the good friends I had in school would carry through my entire life.  As the years have soldiered on, many of those friendships have died (some natural deaths, others not so natural) and the large posse that I once had (and believed would have forever) has dwindled immensely.

But in their place I have found new, equally wonderful friends that I just adore.   Friends who have taught me things about myself, and some who have made me laugh so hard I’ve cried.  As I get older, I find it easier to accept that people are in your life for a reason, a season or a lifetime.  And I can relax into the friendship and enjoy the time we have together.

But the ones who have been around for a long time are few and far between.  These ones have been around since before I actually knew who I was.  I have history with these girls.  They knew me when my hair could give Diana Ross a run for her money; when my forehead was a zit farm and when I hated my thighs.  They sang Wilson Phillips songs with me, and danced to “Groove is in the Heart” with me countless times.  They made fun of me when I thought I was smoking (I wasn’t inhaling).  And, like the good friends they are, patiently taught me how to inhale the toxic fumes into my clean lungs.  Then laughed like maniacs when I choked on the smoke.  Only good friends would do that.

They’ve watched me grow from an awkward teen into the woman I am today.  We're lucky.  We’ve managed to grow together and everytime we get together I am thankful for what we have.

I’ve blogged about them before and this is what I wrote:

There’s something about old friends.  Something safe and warm and incredibly comfortable.  They’re like my tracky daks after a day of corporate wear.  Do I need to explain?  Didn’t think so.

I have a lot of friends.  And I love making new friends, meeting new people and seeing things from different perspectives.  Through my children I have met and made groups of friends I would probably have never met B.K. (Before Kids).  Sometimes it doesn’t work, but other times, it does, and it’s great.  So my point is that I have a lot of friends and I know that through my life, I’ll make even more friends.

But nothing comes close to my old friends.  The friends who were there before kids. Before my husband.  Before I had a job. Before my Mum and I started getting along.  They know things about me that I don’t even know.  They remember things I don’t remember.  They’ve been with me through bad hair, bad skin, bad clothes, bad boys and bad, bad make-up.  And they still love me.  And I, them.

Are you the same?  Do you still have a strong connection with school friends or childhood friends?