The One About New Friends

When we first moved to New Jersey, I told my closest pals I was in no rush to make new friends. Trying to build connections with locals felt like a major emotional investment in one long season of depletion.

Besides, I like my friends like I like my running shoes: one trusty pair is enough thankyouverymuch. Keep that friendship circle small and tight, I say. And guard your tender heart because there are too many willing to use it for their gain. 

As the weeks passed however, I met a fellow parent raising her Autistic teen. We traded digits* (do we say ‘digits’ anymore?), glad for this unexpected connection, and waved goodbye as we left our kids’ school program. 

At the time, I was content with our initial pleasant exchange and daily smiles in the school’s car line. Still exhausted from our move, I gladly stuck to my original plan of ‘No New Friends Right Now’ but a holy nudge toward this new acquaintance led me to text her one day.

Which led to more texts. 

Which led to kind words blowing up our phones, mutual prayers and support, and more recently, laughter spilling out of a bright booth in a diner just off route 80. 

Photo by Nathan Dumlao at Unsplash

Over eggs, toast, and lawsuit hot coffee, we talked about disability, Autism, and the broken educational, medical, and mental health systems that impact all of us. 

We talked about our winding motherhood journeys–what’s working and what most certainly is NOT–and our current struggles and joys. 

We talked about friendship, marriage, and loss.

And we talked about our stumbling ways with Jesus, the Church, and the saints who spur us on toward hope beyond what our weary eyes can see. 

As an introvert, skeptical of anyone beyond my closest pals, I left our time together grateful for this beautiful new friend. No facades or masks. No effort to make ourselves appear better than we are because pretense never builds meaningful connection.

Instead, we shared an hour of honest words, compassion, solidarity, and humor. I weep now at the gift of her quiet insistence that I feel heard, that my family matters right here, right now in this new place.  

Here’s to being open to new possibilities, new connections, and new ideas.

Here’s to showing up with curiosity and vulnerability.

Here’s to the trusted ones who make an effort to really see us, despite our best efforts to stay hidden and safe, to avoid the risks that come with being known and loved. 

And here’s to living like we belong to each other. Because we do.

For you young whippersnappers, ‘digits’ means ‘cell phone numbers.’

Featured image by Jan Tinneberg at Unsplash