My Brilliant Friends
Who am I to be gorgeous, talented, fabulous?
Dear friend,
Sometimes I can’t believe how much of my personal life I’ve shared through 52 Friends.
Two years ago, I was invited for dinner at a friend of my father’s in Miami. I cared so deeply about what other people thought of me then and became consumed by the thoughts of former friends and an ex-boyfriend. It’s all I talked about.
I sat with Vered, my father’s friend’s wife at the table. Though I’d seen her at my parents' birthdays and holiday parties, we had never chatted personally. “The greatest love should be the one you have with yourself,” Vered told me.
Days later, I started writing this blog and put my life on hold for a year to understand loneliness and friendship. It felt like a mission I had to complete and a moral obligation. I ran around Toronto to meet friends, connect with old classmates and attend events to support my new connections. I hosted dinner parties and introduced friends to one another.
Never was I scared to reach out to anyone. If anything, I considered myself lucky to have built a platform that allowed me to randomly text someone and ask them to be my friend. Simultaneously, I felt like a fraud.
Throughout high school when walking home from school I would drop my eyes while passing a classmate, and at 25, as I documented friendship, I was still healing from a difficult time. “Do I deserve to be here?” I’d think to myself as a producer briefed me before air.
To my benefit, any sadness made me determined to share my ideas on loneliness and friendship—angered by the fact that independence at the expense of camaraderie was championed all around me. A big voice emerged from within. “I see you having some sort of recognition, not at work, but public recognition,” a psychic the year prior had said.
Maybe it was my destiny, a gift to show me that my ideas are worth sharing for there are those who love to listen to them—my brilliant friends.
As a child, my mom would remind me to be friends with people who are better than me—never to diminish my value but to encourage me to be friends with people who would be a positive influence.
I adored such friends.
Between the 11th and 12th grades, at French camp, I found myself part of a big girl group of friends. Parisa was 16 and already incredibly wise—nonjudgemental but always curious—she lived grandly and still does. Knocking on my door in the middle of the night, “Open up!” she’d yell so that we could talk for a few minutes.
There was Cynthia whose door I would knock on at 7:40 every morning to get breakfast—a woman of routine. We ideated our weddings as teenagers and nine years later, though we had less time to connect, I knew exactly the style of wedding dress she’d be wearing before I saw her walk down the aisle.
On my first day of work at 22, I met Christi, my manager. “You’re charming,” she assured me when I criticized myself. We discussed personal matters at the start of meetings and she gave me the confidence to take charge of projects.
And, over the last two years, I’ve created many more brilliant friendships. Valeska who champions my writing. Gina who dissects theories with me. Some friends who I miss. It’s now that I wish I was 24 again speaking French with a new friend during a night out in Miami—for I could probably learn a new word.
There is a lesson that I repeat to myself almost daily—a passage from my post on Friends 51 & 52. “The biggest disservice we can inflict on ourselves is associating with people who don’t believe in us. To be in the company of half lovers or half friends—shrinking in an attempt to earn respect at the risk of becoming a person we no longer recognize.
Of course, it’s important to be open to new perspectives because that is how we find belonging but we must surround ourselves with people who value us. Those who understand I am brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous who am I not to be?”
I consider it to be a great lesson. Still working on my book!
Love,
Miriam
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