Imaginary friends, and those we left behind.

The summer I was 6 years old, I remember playing at a small playground by myself. Another little girl came up and started climbing the monkey bars. Being 6, I politely asked her if she'd like to be my friend.  She said no and walked away.

This hurt my feelings. But as I recall, I recovered pretty quickly. At least, I don't remember it ruining my day, much less my life.

Making friends isn't that much different today. Perhaps I'm not so blunt, but there's still that element of awkwardness and risk involved in pursuing a relationship of any kind. Of course, as adults, we've learned that it's poor form to hurt someone else's feelings, so in lieu of bold-faced, outright rejection, we usually opt for a more passive-aggressive response. On both ends. 

One of us says "we should get together sometime," and the other agrees, maybe even enthusiastically. We exchange numbers, then part ways. We don't call. We are busy, we have jobs, families, responsibilities, habits, routines. We both feel, if not acknowledge, a sense of relief. It's not rejection if it's mutual.

But, especially in the case of platonic friendship, we are both denying ourselves the opportunity to expand our lives, challenge our complacency, and develop our characters. Which is exactly why we feel relieved—such benefits come at a cost. It takes courage, energy, effort, and possibly a couple blows to the ego, to build a relationship. We can get our feelings hurt.

I need to remember that I can recover from hurt feelings. With time, attention, and patience, I've discovered I can heal even the deepest wounds. But still, I resist asking for friendship, because my 28-year old self has learned to equate pride with self-worth.  Fortunately, I'm also learning that few truths are as self-evident as they seem. I'm learning to revise. To challenge. To risk.

The key word is learning. Struggling. Faltering. But always returning to the right path, guided back by the slightly impatient, but utterly fearless, voice of my 6 year old self. Who, unfortunately for the nay-saying girl in my story, is actually an exceptionally kick-ass little lady.