Just a moment of gratitude

"People, let me tell you 'bout my best friend, she's a warm-hearted person who will love me till the end."

She's the steadiest, most good-for-me friend I ever had. I've had lots of flamboyant, amazing friends along the way, eccentric and neurotic and brilliant and hilarious, mostly. She's all these things, but in a more subdued version. I usually am drawn to the peacock when I'm in the aviary. She's more like a mother quail. A beautiful, kind and understanding mother quail.

We met fifteen years ago in the copier room of the government agency we both worked for. I had seen her around for a couple of months - it was a large office - but had missed the window of opportunity to introduce myself during her first week there, so I affected the charade that she wasn't a new employee, but an agent working on a case with our office. The day we met, in the copier room, I introduced myself, then asked her what agency she was from. She looked at me like I was a little touched in the head and explained she worked there. I acted all surprised to cover my ridiculous charade, but when it was done and she could've - should've - rolled her eyes at my poorly executed lie, instead she grinned wryly at me, and I could see the twinkle in her eyes. It was like she somehow understood my bizarre moment of social ineptness and forgave me, all with that wry smile, and I looked at her with a sense of, "Who's this person?" My curiosity was piqued. It was an ignominious beginning, and I still can't believe I did it, but we laugh about it now.

There was never any expectations made by either of us, and over the course of daily chats in the office and very occasional after-work forays to Thai restaurants, our friendship just evolved into a trusting, mutually supportive relationship without either of us trying.

A few years later, she moved away, and I expected we would lose touch, but we didn't, and soon we fell into the habit of checking in with each other two or three times a week. Sometimes we would just report what was going on at work, or what we did over the weekend, but she became the one person who knew everything about me.

When I moved to Palm Springs ten years ago she took time off from work to help me. The plan was she would drive my car while I drove the huge enormous rental truck with my convertible on a trailer. That was the plan, but after the first sixty miles I confessed to being scared to death and she switched with me. She had to duct tape one of my shoes to the bottom of her own shoe so she could reach the pedals. She was heroic. The night we drove through the Los Angeles grapevine in a torrential downfall - during rush hour - is an experience I'll never forget in all my life. I still don't know how she did it. Sheer grit and determination, I think. She was awesome.

When I went through an extremely difficult unrequited love/work situation, a few years ago, she was with me every step of the way - during the infatuation period, and then through all the ups and downs that came as I got more and more embroiled in the mess. All through it she somehow refrained from giving me advice - she's a great advice giver - but because she was there with me throughout, she "understood." And that's what I needed.

We visited each other when we could, and we were there for each other, by phone, when our fathers died, listening, understanding, offering no advice or platitudes or even solemn words of sympathy. We didn't need to. We were sympathetic to each other, in the true meaning of the word - we were in sympathy, symmetry, aligned. We understood each other.

About a year ago she started saying, "Why don't you come live with me?" She was outraged at the amount I paid for rent (I lived on the waterfront in Seattle), she knew the job I had was completely unrewarding, and she thought it would be good for me to calm down a little, maybe start working on my weight, you know, take a "real world" break and hang out with her for awhile. I dismissed it the first few times she mentioned it - me, give up Seattle and the waterfront and my independence, just to move to Albuquerque? But she persisted, gently, and little by little I realized maybe she had something there.

It was not a "no big deal" thing, her invitation. She's as comfortable living alone as I am, and has a good life for herself in New Mexico. I could've screwed everything up for her. We knew each other very well and we love each other, but everyone knows living together is a whole different potential can of worms. But still, she opened her house to me, invited me to live with her, welcomed me and my animals into the menagerie (she's got lots of animals) and it's been seven months now. No fuss, no muss, we're just very comfortable with each other. I love it here.

Without a word or expectation, she accepts me just as I am. Without a word or expectation, I accept her just as she is. I think this may be the most important gift anyone ever gave me, at a time when I needed it most (and didn't even realize it). She understands me, she accepts me, she is in sympathy with me.

It is because I live with her that I have begun to feel good about myself.
It is because I live with her that I have the space and freedom to make changes in myself without a clock ticking or a deadline looming.
It is because I live with her that I can afford to spend my days slowly growing my business and concentrating on the concepts I talk about on this blog.
It is because I live with her that I've lost over 100 pounds and make my bed every morning.

She's uncomfortable with visible signs of affection; we hugged when I arrived, we hugged when my dog died, and we'll probably hug again sometime, but it's by no means a daily occurrence. So instead we smile at each other a lot, and laugh, and enjoy each other's steady company. I used to drip with gratitude when I first got here, rightly so, but she shut me up fast, saying that this was a mutually beneficial thing and I shouldn't make a big deal out of it. When I first started doing chores around the house, I waited for her acknowledgement, her praise - and I waited in vain. As it turned out, this is another part of our interaction that is enormously beneficial for me. Now, when I do something nice for her and her critters, I don't look for acknowledgement or outward signs of gratitude from her anymore - it was a hard lesson for me to learn, admittedly. I could never repay in chores and tasks and thoughtful gestures the enormous gift she's given me - but she prefers us to keep our mutual appreciation to ourselves, and that's fine with me now. Little Stevie has let go of any sense of entitlement and/or resentment and/or guilt for the things she does, and he also doesn't expect a gold star to be affixed to some report card somewhere when he "shows his gratitude" by doing tasks well performed. It's amazing how perfect this is for a person like me who believed my parents loved me conditionally - so long as I did well in school or stayed closeted or made breakfast. My friend's love is unconditional. So the emphasis on doing things to earn love has melted away, and what's left is just a genuine joy to do things that both of us quietly appreciate - a clean kitchen, a good meal every once in awhile, a well-running house, and happy, well-fed critters all around.

I wish that everyone could have the opportunity I did - to live with someone who allowed - supported - made room - for this grand experiment I'm conducting. I never realized until I experienced it how critical these ingredients were: Acceptance. Understanding. Love. Without fanfare. Without expectation.

She doesn't read this blog. She won't see this post. This would embarrass her horribly. That's why I haven't mentioned her name.

She wouldn't want me to express it in words, or even surruptitious glances, but I think it every day, all day long: Thank you, thank you, thank you, my dear friend.