Skip to main content

skin on

Sometimes you need a little more than facebook love.
Or even double digit comments.
Sometimes you need real live friends.
The kind with skin that you can touch.

So today I did a brave thing.
And I so won’t be posting this today
Or any time soon
Because I’m not that brave.
So I’ll hold on to this post awhile.
Until it is funny.

But this morning I walked downstairs and asked someone to go get coffee with me.
Yep.
That was my very brave thing.

And here is why.
Because me and the girl aren’t really friends yet.
We have worked together for awhile.
But it is a big building and I could go weeks without seeing her.
And we are facebook friends and occasionally comment to the other.
But I really don’t think that counts.
But she reads my blog.
And likes it.
And comments.
And because of I can tell we like some of the same things ( like Jen Lancaster and Jesus)…I thought maybe we should try and be real life friends instead of just virtual ones.
Seeing how, we work in the same building and all.

But somehow it was way easier on the playground to make friends.
In elementary school friends were just there.
In the desk next to you or right next door.
In high school there was a little more choice involved…but it was pretty easy to bond over a cute boy that you both liked.
And in college.
Still pretty easy.
Friends filled the dorms and classes.
And somehow I thought that making friends would keep being that easy.
But it has only gotten harder.
I mean I may be a little more secure than I was back in the sixth grade.
But I think we all still worry and wonder if people will like us.

And this isn’t some sad lonely I don’t have any friends post.
I do. I have great ones.
And I could always use a new one.
Because I love learning people’s stories.
Because each friend. Real or virtual adds a little bit to mine.

And this virtual bloggy world is pretty amazing.
I mean sometimes it is even easier.
A stranger who reads my blog could possibly know me better than friends I see all the time.
And sometimes I think I might just be better on paper.
All edited and polished and picked and chosen.
Without interruptions or small talk.
And it is a little easier to go a little deeper on here.
Because I don’t have to look you in the eye or hear you if you laugh at me.
But you can’t go get coffee with me.
Or share fondue.
Or chips and salsa.
Or pretty much anything else that has to do with food and laughing a lot.

So sometimes we need to stop reading or blogging up updating your status.
And occasionally even stop calling the usual girls…..
And walk down the hall…or the street…or across the playground…or pick up the phone.
Be brave.
And ask her to go get some coffee. Or ice cream. Or chickfila.
Or pretty much anything that has to do with food and laughing a lot.

Comments

samskat said…
So? How was coffee? And I haven't seen you in more years than I care to count, and I still think you're better in person. (And, amazingly, I can still see my buddy Mich from summer camp in your blogs/FB posts!!)
"A stranger who reads my blog could possibly know me better than friends I see all the time." this gets me all the time, and it's happening more and more. Not sure if it's a good or bad thing...
Hope your coffee date went well! I agree, the older we get, the harder it is to make friends. Wish you were my neighbor ;)
Beth (and Eric) said…
Oops. I commented on the wrong post... I hear ya. That's all!

Popular posts from this blog

Either/Or

Recently I met an old friend for lunch. He was actually my senior high prom date. He wasn’t just my prom date, but had been my friend for a good part of high school. And our group has mostly stayed in touch through the years. But not him. Even though we live in the same big metroplex, I hadn’t seen him in almost 15 years. At prom, He even won some kind of senior superlative, Mr. BHS or something like that. In other words, he was well-liked, nice, funny and smart. And it helped that he drove a Camero. We didn’t break up or have a falling out. He kind of just disappeared. And not just from me, but from everyone. And I had looked for him. At class reunions. On myspace. And eventually, only about a year ago, he finally showed up on facebook. When he did, I suggested we get together for dinner or something. And he responded with a really awkward email. Explaining that he was gay. Warning me. Trying to let me out of my dinner invitation if I wanted. And I already knew this. Possibly I had ev

me too

I used to never question God. It was just part of the way things were. Just like I believed in Santa and the tooth fairy and the Easter bunny. And eventually I grew up and started to wonder. I always believed, But occasionally I started to wonder if he was always good. If he really loved me. Singular me rather than an all inclusive version. That he was paying attention. That my prayers mattered.` And I didn’t know that I should play by the rules. That questioning these outloud things in a Bible study or Sunday School class Will get you bumped to the top of the prayer list. Because I know. But sometimes I wonder. And I didn’t need their scripture memory verses or their books or their prayers. (but I guess prayers never hurt) And I was just hoping for someone else to say “me too”. And, Jason Boyett’s book, O Me of Little Faith Is one great big “me too” And like most books I like he asks a whole lot more questions than he answers. Hard ones. Ones without real answers. Ones that make me wa

imaginary friends

Recently I had a friend disappoint me. I didn’t tell them. And I didn’t write about it when it happened. Instead I seethed a little and got angrier and slightly resentful and finally dumped it on my husband. (who had some great advice that will come later) And. I have hesitated to write this piece because a lot of my real life friends read this. Maybe even the one I’m writing about. Maybe not. Actually I’m not really sure. And to be honest the best pace to work this out would be with them. Just them. And not on line. But. It’s not really about them. It’s more about me. And I don’t think there is so much to work out anyways. So, if you are my real life friend and are reading this and wondering, hesitantly or fearfully if this is about you. It might be. But it probably isn’t. And again. Even if it is. It’s not REALLY about you. And if it isn’t. It could be. If we have been friends for more than five minutes, we have probably had a moment like this. So, back to me venting to my husband.