My writers’ group met today. The members of that group are all women with whom I’ve gone through one dream team. Meeting once a month to compare our work and offer each other support and encouragement was my biggest hope for our dream team; now, this recurring meeting is a big part of the system of support on which I lean for my writing.
My writers’ group is made up of myself, and four of my flesh-and-blood friends. I don’t have as many f&b friends as I used to have, but then again, I hid for a decade behind some nasty sickness and a killing depression. Many who were my friends at the beginning of that decade I no longer see. Friendships only last through so much neglect before they become less, and less, and finally, nothing at all.
I am lucky, in that I have found f&b friends here in my building, as well; a small group of really good people, mostly the smokers who sit out in front of the building. I have no problem with them smoking — in fact, as I confessed before, I joined them for one. Rather, I spend time with these men and women because I love having f&b friends, people I can turn to for one of those touches we all sometime need: a hand on my shoulder, even that quiet tap on the knee or the shoulder. I am lucky to find them here.
So I have two sources of f&b friends. I also count many non-f&bs as friends, bloggers and other members of the blog community who have become as important to me as f&b friends are. These are a new class of friends in my life, but they have their vital spot in my heart. My bloggy friends vary from one end of the social spectrum to the other; each a different kind of writer; many sympathetic and supportive, and a few sort of remote. They are men and women, from countries around the world. Once again, I’m lucky.
Many of my family are my friends, to one degree or another. I am lucky to have come to a place in my life where I can appreciate my family as friends, not something I could always do. My older sister, S., is my dearest and best friend, and even though we see each other less often than once a year, she is as close as my phone, and my heart. I love her, and all of my family; I owe sister S. my life, many times over. I am lucky and very happy to have found common ground with my mother, with whom I never got along that well, before. My other sisters, my brother, my father and his other family — from bare acquaintances to partners in memories of happy times, I am lucky to count my family as friends.
I am not completely clear about why I needed to write this today, but I am glad now that I did.