No New Friends

Contemplating
Always searching for the truth

Have you heard Drake’s song “No New Friends…?” The message in this song is; due to Drake’s newfound fame/money flush existence, he’d like to keep newcomers, with unclear intentions out of his inner circle. It seems that he has an existing group of confidants and is not looking to recruit “new friends.” He proclaims, on repeat, that he only stays down with “my day one ni**as.” I contemplate this idea as a 38-year-old mother and not a famous, 30-year-old rapper. It is amazing the parallels I can draw from this notion of “no new friends,” both as the one wanting to be the “new friend,” and the one who feels most comfortable with my “day one”’s.

The difference between Drake and I, and clearly there are a few, but for the sake of keeping this succinct, let’s just point out the obvious. I am a non-famous, woman, who can rap, BUT, my daily life requires the more mundane tasks of preschool drop-off and various forms of cleaning. Thus, my social life is likely less volatile and/or desirable. However, making friends as an adult woman/mom has a similar theme to a famous rap crew.

You see, the woman who have been in the same mom-gang since their kids where born, or moved into their current neighborhood at the same time as said child’s birth, have developed a desirable ‘crew-life.’ For these crews, geography, life circumstance and general social classes aligned for them from the get, thus creating a friend-making all-you-can-hang-buffet. And now that crew is established, trying to join can be tricky, if not impossible. Is my “groupie” “rap crew” analogy making any sense?

I find myself on the in and outside of the “no, new friends,” motto. I’m on the outside as I’ve entered a community after its creation, thus making me the “new friend.” However, I have my own close friends; they do not share my neighborhood or life circumstances, but they are my ‘day one’’s. And now I’m finding myself looking for “new friends,” while also proceeding with some pretty serious caution. I’m starting think that exercising such caution has been limiting my experience and leaving me consequently lonely.

It really doesn’t matter what stage of life you’re in, making new friends can be complicated and loaded with fear and land mines. Entering into a new group is really about your ‘box’. No, not your vagina… your packaging, your attributes that make you relatable. Think about your box, what type of packaging are you working with? Does it have a nice cellophane screen so that others can easily know what’s inside? Does your box contain enough room for the contents of your soul?

You see, your box is how others identify you. Your packaging is how others know whether they can or cannot handle you. So, if your box is the same shape as other boxes, you can join that stack!

I don’t have a box. I am box-less; Identity-less really. You may think, EVERYONE has to have an identity, but the truth is, everyone has a persona (likes, dislikes, conditioned preferences). I have never been defined by any one thing; I don’t really know my ethnic background; my social and monetary status is ambiguous and I have no singular talent. My likes and dislikes change all of the time, while containing a few intrinsic truths. But, I’m without a ‘typical’ box. I am unable to be categorized on sight. For me, making friends is a process that must be rooted in love, acceptance and authenticity…not always common when newly sniffing the butts of strangers;-)

The point of sharing this is to shed light on the complications of building true bonds and connections. It’s no one’s fault. Everyone is conditioned to align with those that feel safe, and can be defined or associated with familiarity. It is egoic and human to desire bonds that elevate one’s status and/or feelings of belonging.

I find myself in this new (neighborhood, son’s school) place in the life, where it’s as though I’m a bit late to the ball. I’ve arrived but everyone is already seated at their tables and engaged in a dialogue that began what seems like a lifetime ago. I’m also not exercising much bravery in my situation. I could find an empty chair, bring my truth to the table in order to find a community…but I haven’t. It’s the old “chicken and the egg;” which came first? Does the person hatch new opportunities in order to join a community, or do the opportunities hatch from being a part of the new community?

For now, I’ve assigned myself the task of entering into all social dynamics with an open heart and a conduit of love and peace. Maybe that’s how the community begins, with a core of energy that engages new people and draws them together for a shared experience.

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Love You, Love, Me: Hello Motherhood! Part 5

I just finished reading my old diaries from the pubescent era of life. It was like reading a very immature Jane Austen in the midst of an existential crises…and with horrible grammar. What stands out for me in my emotional hangover of diary reading, is how much love I cultivated in my heart every day. Love for boys who didn’t even know my name. Love for dysfunctional friendships. Love for hopes and dream that where rooted in fantasy and make believe. The words kept popping up over and over “I love…” this, “I love…” him, “I love…” that!

I realize now, I was desperate to create love in my heart to protect me from the fear and loneliness I was harboring. If I could create an imaginary romance with a person who I’d never be with, it would distract me from my turmoil and self-loathing.

I’m pretty impressed with my teenage self. She was always searching for the light in the depths of the shadows. She was pretty tough and spunky, always clinging to love wherever she could find it. She was also a self-centered brat, like most privileged white girls in suburban America. I can’t blame her, I think a journey through the “ME ME ME” period is necessary for our development and the amusing story telling’s of our adult selves.

But theme remains, how desperately I’ve always wanted to feel love. As I read, my first thought was, “what was wrong with me?” And like a flash, it came to me, I sought love on the outside as it did not live within.

This post is specifically about body love, however, as you’ve learned from my previous stories, the keys usually unlock inner doors. I could/can notlove my body while detesting who I am.

I was loved. My parents adored me. My friends thought I was great. Most of my teachers where charmed by my wit in absence of my homework…I wasn’t some leper who didn’t experience true human bonds. The thing was, I was not amused by myself. I was constantly tap dancing for everyone, even though it was not required. I never thought just being me was enough, because I didn’t know who I was. So that’s it…when you don’t know yourself, how the hell you gonna love yourself? (That’s a play on a RuPaul phrase, look it up).

I didn’t have anything to identify with; I wasn’t an athlete, I wasn’t particularly good in school, I wasn’t the prettiest girl…Without any discernable, marketable skills in adolescence, how does one find themselves? Their place? I still don’t know…It’s taken me close to 38 years to finally know myself.

I learned recently that not having an identity can be quite powerful, because if you can live without the attachment what you think you are (to yourself and others), isn’t that the ultimate freedom? How, as these infinite souls/beings do we live in one little box? That’s not to say you can’t celebrate your strengths and pursue passions of a specific aptitude. But what if we just lived without being so focused on one or a few things; like “I’m a mom, I’m a writer, I’m an amazing memorizer of song lyrics…” YES, those things make up my persona, but my soul is boundless.

How I’ve learned to love myself is by recognizing that my soul’s potential reaches so much further than my abilities or the amounts of people who “approve” of or “accept” me. My path of self-discovery and self-connectedness has lead me to this really peaceful place of just being. I just am…

So back to my body, my health, and those tactical tools I use to care for my temporary vessel. When I am fully connected to my truest self, my body is my beautiful home, no matter what the scale reads. If I am nourishing my soul, I’m also doing so with my body. When I released the stress of needing to look a specific way or weigh a specific number, ironically, my body started to shift; it was no longer carrying the emotional weight of self-hate, self-criticism, self-who-the-fuck-are-you.

When I could fully grasp the miracle of motherhood, of pregnancy, of growing life inside life, how could I hate that? How could I continue to look in the mirror and feel ugly when I look at the life my body helped to create as stunning? I simply cannot!

We live in a society where woman are constantly beating themselves up. I’m not saying anything you haven’t read before…we compare ourselves to the likes of 21-year-old super models and call ourselves fat as a greeting! Our culture of woman has grown accustomed to apologizing for their appearance “Hi, ugh don’t look at my hair, I’m a mess…”

We are the most magical fucking beings! WE ARE! And we are often valued by our youth and hip-to-waste-ratios…I’m so sick of it. I’ve surrendered to my imperfections and I would love to help anyone else find a way to share in that peace.

Now more than ever, we as woman, need to start loving ourselves unconditionally. If we can step into our power without fear, we will rule this world. We will take our future to places that are uncharted and likely pretty magnificent.

Self-love/body-love it’s all rooted in the same thing, connectedness and uncontainable, unconditional love. It’s not an easy place to find, but the first step is just wanting something more than a daily ritual of dissatisfaction. I deserved that, you deserve that. I pray you all find it in some way, and I send you my love.