Best Friend isn’t a person Danny, it’s a tier.
Hitting nails on heads since 2012, Mindy Kaling crushes it. This tier is a cherished haven, and usually spans years of fortitude, is emotionally cultivated and is rooted in time, honesty and deep challenge. It’s a winning lottery ticket, a rotating panel keeping the influx of emotional wealth ever flowing. Depending on the day, the situation, the need, I can reach out to the person that my guts need.
I cannot manage finances, take out the garbage and giggle on the couch with moisturized, smooth legs draped over my partner’s lap. I cannot laugh at his jokes, pay bills on time and offer our kids a healthy dose of discipline. What am I, a 1950’s housewife? At a time when we search, swipe and date looking for the one to be our best friend, lover, co-parent, financier, home cleaning company, impulse controller/instigator, life coach, and sounding board – it’s a matter of survival for me to have a stash of individuals that can energetically come to my aid when my partner is tapped out. The idea that one person can fulfill all our needs is a deep insult to me, and has created far more stress in my relationship than necessary. If only our vows had included “Within this sacred union of marriage, we will outsource support and not solely rely on each other because neither of us is capable, nor deserving of such an impossibility”. If I go for too long without connecting with my BFT my wifing starts to falter. My mothering starts to fumble. The correlation is obvious, and this aspect of my health must be a non-negotiable.
Getting the quality time to interact with these precious people who live on this sacred Tier is paramount. Like any garden, the Tier needs tending, watering, sometimes weeding. It keeps the bowels of my soul healthy. As an extravert, I am at my best when my heart is tethered to the heart of others. I am at worst when I float aimlessly without these anchors. Finding the time is a challenge. Coordinating the time is near impossible. A trip without the kids here, a coffee with the baby there. A post-bed-time beer every 4 weeks, or a flurry of text messaging mid-day for the serious stuff. We get creative, focussed, serious about the need to make it happen. Sometimes it does, sometimes it doesn’t. When will I learn that it must?
It never happens often enough. I always want more and need replenishment at a faster rate than my depletion. I feel guilty for needing more, even though I know it would make me better, keep me sane. I struggle to remind myself how important this is, to accept that these heart strings don’t snap. It’s hard to explain to my partner that sometimes it’s specifically not him that I need. When the BFT is populated with the right people, the demands of every day are manageable, the laughter flows easier and my ability to give back is strengthened. How is something so simple, so goddamn difficult at the same time?
Can we just agree that we are soulmates and have an open relationship?
That’s kind of what we are doing.
Great, we are always on the same page.
Gotta go, somebody is screaming my name.
Stay strong. At least we have each other.
Totes.
Wrinkles and Dust 