Sometimes, I catch myself daydreaming about posting a personal ad—not for romance, but in search of a best friend. Someone who shares my quirks and experiences. Sure, I can find other married mothers in their forties to connect with; they’re around. There are even some in my neighborhood. But when I start listing what makes me unique—twenty-five years of marriage, two kids aged three and five, a penchant for liberal politics, a husband in the military, and oh yes, I write erotic romance—I suddenly feel isolated. Those commonalities fade as I reveal more about my life. And if there happens to be someone who resonates with all that? My writing passion likely scares them off.
I cherish the diverse group of friends I have, and as a writer, it’s enriching to engage with a variety of people. From twenty-something hipsters with kids the same age as mine to authors, editors, and bloggers I’ve met at conferences and through social media, my connections are fulfilling. Social media has been a haven for reconnecting with friends from the past, yet while some of those high school buddies boast about grandchildren, my husband and I are knee-deep in discussions about Montessori education and the right college funds. Meanwhile, other military spouses with young children are grappling with long deployments, while my husband is on the cusp of retirement and all our separations are behind us—some even pre-email. When it comes to our future home, we’re balancing the needs of our children’s schooling with where we’ll spend our golden years.
Since childhood, I’ve always felt like a square peg in a round hole. Growing up in a home devoid of books, I turned into an insatiable reader and a budding writer. I often found myself questioning norms—why things were done a certain way and why I should aspire to what others wanted. With the empowering voice of my idol, Gloria Steinem, echoing in my mind, I believed I could forge my own path. Yet, having so many options sometimes leaves me feeling like the odd one out, especially in my little corner of the world. I have a fulfilling life but lack a best friend who mirrors my experiences.
The term “BFF” doesn’t quite sit right with me, perhaps because it feels outdated for someone over 40. I’m uncertain about current fashion trends, and my social life often revolves around my kids. A typical girls’ night for me is more about coffee and a movie with a single friend than wild adventures. As I approach my 50th birthday, I know there won’t be any raucous Vegas bashes; instead, my closest friends span a 20-year age gap and are scattered across the country. My kids will be in elementary school by then, so a backyard barbecue sounds like the perfect celebration. Did I mention I’m an introvert who enjoys hosting parties?
I’ve flourished at various stages in my life. Despite achieving high marks in school, it took me four colleges and twelve years to earn my undergraduate degree, and I only completed my master’s at 40. I often found myself being the oldest in my classes, sometimes even older than the instructor. My children arrived at 42 and 44. Yet, I married young at 23, and I’ve had aspirations for writing since I crafted my first story in first grade. The most “grown-up” I ever felt was during a particularly challenging pregnancy, yet I often feel youthful surrounded by toys and activities like LEGO blocks and family outings. Am I experiencing the best of both worlds?
I’m more than the sum of my experiences, and my life diverges drastically from that of most friends, but I’m hardly a trendsetter. While many people feel out of sync at times, I realize that friendships can evolve, even among lifelong pals. Although I know I’m not alone in feeling this way, I’ve yet to encounter someone who responds, “I relate!” when I describe my life. Sometimes I think of my existence like one of those Facebook quizzes: pick a trait from each column, and you get a unique result—a collage of experiences that, while rewarding, can feel a bit lonely.
I’ve created a vibrant, chaotic life based on the belief that I can pursue anything I desire. I often find myself encouraging others to embrace their dreams—yes, you can return to college at 40; no, don’t feel guilty for taking a week off for a writing retreat; yes, there’s life after kids; yes, forge your own path. I hope to embody this truth for my children as they grow, teaching them to color outside the lines and challenge the status quo.
While my way of living isn’t the only one, it’s mine, and that’s perfectly fine. I wouldn’t change a thing. Still, I can’t help but wish for a kindred spirit who understands my journey.
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Summary:
The struggle to find genuine friendship as an adult can be daunting, especially when life experiences set us apart from our peers. The author reflects on their unique journey, feeling like an outsider while celebrating the diversity in their friendships. With a blend of humor and introspection, they highlight the importance of forging one’s own path and the occasional loneliness that comes with it, all while inspiring others to pursue their own dreams.
Keyphrase: adult friendships
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