Wishing

Maybe it’s a measure of my insecurity, or merely a predictable response to love, but I often find myself wishing that I were more: more attractive, more youthful, more accomplished. Then, as my thinking goes, you would find me more compelling.

And, horribly - if I am to be totally honest with myself and with you - there have been times that I’ve wished you were more, too: more mature, more focused, more self-directed. Then, according to my flawed logic, the barriers between us would evaporate, you’d be self-actualized and more fully yourself and…well, yes, you’d find me more compelling.

However, here is a hard and beautiful fact: If any of the above were true – if they had ever been true, I wouldn’t know you at all. Given the circumstances by which we met, if I had been at any other stage in my life, or my career, then our paths would never have crossed. And if you had been any of the things that I’ve occasionally wished you were, you would have had no need of me. And so, the long, slow arc of our friendship would never have been drawn.

Of course, I’m ruling out random encounters like a traffic accident which, given your driving record, is not beyond the realm of possibility. Or that we might have met at the crossroads of our shared passions: at a movie perhaps, or cruising Indigo, or reading beside one another at Moonbeam.

But I don’t really believe that.

If I have any faith at all, it is a deep and abiding belief that everything must happen exactly as it does, that nothing is wasted or random or meaningless - not even the most sweetly coincidental or brutally tragic. That is not an easy thing for me to accept, given my experience. But, in the end, I think that’s what makes our individual experience so lush and precious. It’s the inarguable fact that we can’t be anything other than what we are, and our experience nothing but what it has been.

I’m not saying that I might not suddenly become more successful, or that I might not harden my physique with some new training regimen (although getting younger seems unlikely, barring unforeseen medical advances). And, I’m not suggesting that your self-confidence won’t blossom, or that you won’t ultimately find your groove. On the contrary, I know you will and, in the meantime, I’ll do everything I can to help.

I just mean that my childish instinct - to wish that things were other than they are - is just that: a foolish immaturity that’s blind to the breathtaking beauty of what is, and what must be.

If I am, alternately, content and happy, stunned and thrilled, moved and motivated, by the mere fact of you – by your presence, your friendship and your love – then it behooves me to embrace all of the circumstances that led us to this point.

So, if I have a wish, let it not be a desire to be something other than what I am. Let me wish to be even more fully myself – and a good, loving, accepting friend to you.