Spaghetti and Meatballs

Yesterday I realized something.

It's not often that I realize something, but when I do, I think and think and think about it so I won't forget. Because we all know how bad of a memory I have. :P

Yesterday I realized that I'm tired of...this is going to sound really awful, but hang on. I'm tired of the job of making/keeping friends.

Not the tired "I'm not going to do this anymore," because I love all of you and I so desperately want to keep in touch.

More like..."this is only going to happen more and more as I get older" kind of tired. Does that make sense? The overwhelming feeling that this will keep happening for the rest of my life...

When I think of my friends and the relationships I have with them, I see a huge mess. There is no definite ending or beginning to knowing these people, and there are all these silly, awful, stupid, wonderful, lovely things I know about them.

I just see this huge ball of red and brown yarn [or maybe it's spaghetti] all tangled up.

And I hate a tangled ball of yarn [or a tangled heap of spaghetti and meatballs]. I want everything to be clearly cut, labeled, and put in its own little box. Organized. Neat.

Like when I was growing up. I had childhood friends: Stephanie, Katie, Caleb, Harris, Andrew, and Kaitlyn. When I moved, I left them behind and made new friends on a ranch. After we moved, I made new friends in the woods: Nita and Robin. When I moved, I made new friends in the city: Lydia, Kristy, Elise. When I moved to Spain, I made LOTS of new friends: Josh, Raquel, Lynnette, Joe, Suvi, Cristina, etc. When I moved back, I had my old friends again. Then I moved again, to a Christian School. I made friends with Joseph and Angie. Then I went to school in Columbia. I made friends: Michael, Elizabeth, Elanor, Kirsten, Rachel, Abbie, Connie, Christina, Gina, Ruth, Laura, etc. After school I made friends: Christy, Madeline, Roz, and Marissa.

But I kept a secret: The ones I left...I forgot. No messy tangling of lines - "I'll call you, I'll write you." I didn't miss them. And I've always felt awful for feeling that way. But I couldn't miss them. It wasn't in me. There were clear-cut beginnings and endings, and I didn't want to mix them up. One phase of life would go by and I'd begin another, fresh, new. And it was wonderful.

Now that I'm older, I'm lonely. I'm trying to re-connect with people from every part of my life. I'm friends with my childhood friend, Stephanie; I'm facebook friends with Nita; I write Lydia, Kristy and Elise on occasion; I regularly call Kirsten and spend time with Rachel when she's in town, and I go out of my way to invite Christy and Roz and Marissa and my college friends that are here over to my house.

To re-connect. To plumb the depths of our friendship, to find out how deep it really is.

And it scares me how much I don't know them. Out of all the "friends" I have, I'd have to truthfully say that I only really care about a dozen.

Why?

I'm not sure.

But it pains me that I don't care and I agonize about how few "real" friends I really have. And I feel like my life has become unorganized: a big heaping plate of meatballs and spaghetti. And no matter what, it's going to stay that way. Relationships are messy.

And I wonder which is better: to leave the old behind and pick up the new and toss it aside when I leave like a fading fashion statement...or to look at the heap of spaghetti and meatballs and realize I can at least attempt to untangle the noodles and organize and neaten up my plate. It just seems like a rather unnecessary, rather difficult job.