Issue Two

This year is my 30th. And though I’m not yet lying about my age (in Buffalo it’s tough to disguise your age when you were in the same kindergarten class as most of your acquaintances), the milestone has caused some (involuntary) reflection and evaluation on topics ranging from "now that I can finally afford great clothes, where has my size six gone?" to "the biological clock concept–not bogus after all." I’ve also been examining the evolution of friendships.

As preschoolers, finding a playmate was as easy as walking down the block and knocking on someone’s door. The only criteria for friendship included a few key Barbie accessories and a willingness to share. Cool moms were a bonus. Plus, gender was no object. A 5-year old girl has not yet entered the wonderful world of wondering whether Joey is hanging around because she’s smart and funny, or simply because he admires her rear-end.

Friendships continued in this uncomplicated fashion until around junior high, with the introduction of the suburban caste system. And though gone was the innocence of earlier years, within this brutal hierarchy even outcasts found their niche. In my case, I ran with a pack of six, for whom life was a group project. We fell in somewhere between "slutty cheerleader" and "brainy nerd." Possibly this is the reason we decided to create our own label. Our secret moniker was "VPQs." It stood for Virgin Party Queens.

College enabled more sophisticated friendships to take shape. When a group of women live, study, pig out, binge drink, throw up, and become NVPQs together, intimate friendship is inevitable. This is probably why no matter how much time passes between visits, my college friends and I fall back effortlessly into friendship as usual.

Maybe that’s why on the eve of 30, I’m not quite sure how to make a new friend. And though I’ve maintained valuable friendships from high school and college, I no longer run with a pack of six. In fact, with all these friends living in places ranging from Chicago to New York to Baltimore, I barely run with a pack of two. And though I love and appreciate the friends I do have, near and far, I wouldn’t mind some more whose friendship doesn’t require a long distance bill.

Unfortunately there are strange but very real barriers to women’s friendship. These are self-created by women for women. While my husband can have a fine time hanging out with guys he’s just met, I must carefully weigh each potential social encounter. What if I’m a few months into a new friendship, only to find we are not compatible? What if I don’t have time to nurture a new friendship after all? Suddenly, I feel like a man. I cannot commit. Worse than that, I can’t even get to the point where commitment is possible.

Upon further reflection, I consider that all these excuses are simply a defense mechanism. Perhaps it is I who fear rejection. What if I ask Jane to come out to play–and she refuses? After all, Jane has her own job and own baby and own husband to take up her time. And taking on a new friend is a mighty undertaking. I understand this.

And yet…there are a couple of women I’ve met with whom I’d love to see a friendship evolve. And even though at 29 it may take two years rather than two weeks to solidify it, I am willing to wait. After all, I too am busy picking up the dry cleaning and grocery shopping and working late.

So for all of you who feel the same, go ahead. Do it. Walk down the street and knock on the door. You might just meet a cool mom or two.