Old girlfriends are the best. As opposed to young girlfriends. As opposed to new girlfriends.
When I was a teenager and a young adult, I had a wide circle of friends as most young people do. We went to the beach together, went to dance clubs together, and hung out doing nothing special for hours at a time, usually in groups. We listened to music, talked about hair and boys and clothes and sex. Though our emotions at that age were intense and very near the surface, most of these friendships dissolved as we grew up and moved away to pursue our adult lives.
Now, as an old broad, I have the best friendships of my life. Our shared activities are certainly less than with my young friendships, but the bonds between us are a gift only age can deliver.
I have read that girlhood friendships are often role-playing lessons in intimacy, practicing for adult romantic relationships. Girls tend to have exclusionary “best friends” and are deeply wounded when they feel this bond has been betrayed. They tell their innermost secrets to their best friend, sharing a part of themselves no one else is privy to. When best friends break up, it’s an early lesson in heartbreak.
Old girlfriends aren’t jealous. If she has many friends I am happy for her, glad that her life is filled with people who love her. Glad there is always someone to share her joys and sorrows.
During my young adulthood and middle age, friends took a backseat to marriage, motherhood, and career. Seldom did a friend have priority; they were relegated to my spare time, which was rare.
A rich and deeply valued aspect of this stage of life is a return to friendship as a priority. The relationships I have with a handful of women near my age are different from any I’ve known before.
Old girlfriends cheer each other on. We’ve come to understand that success for one does not diminish the other, so we are free to extend genuine support and encouragement. Envy and jealousy are conspicuously absent in these friendships. We’ve outlived the need to compete and compare ourselves to one another, accepting that some friends are thinner, some are richer, and some are luckier in love. Life has taught us that for someone, WE are the thinner one, the richer one, or the luckier one.
Old girlfriends know how to truly share intimacy. We’ve all had our hearts broken by lovers, our children, or just the vagaries of fate, so we know how to walk gently around each other’s tender bits. We’ve helped each other stand again after our falls, leaned on one another when the rain poured down too heavy and cold. We’ve laughed together until we peed on ourselves about things we would never tell another soul.
As we go through this grand transition to the final third of life, we know what a dark journey it can be. Five years ago I counted one widow among my friends, now there are several. Five years ago, serious illness was an abstract thought, now it is a topic of daily discussion. We all have an awareness that we could be the next one to fall down this deep well. So we extend our hand to others in the well, lifting them back into the light and warmth. If necessary, we climb down in the well two at a time to rescue a sister who is too weak to help pull herself up. There but for the grace is on all our lips.
Old girlfriends accept us, take us as they find us. When they visit and the sofa is piled with unfolded laundry, they fold enough to make themselves a place to sit. If they must, they’ll wash a mug to share a cup of tea. Uncombed hair and chin whiskers don’t offend, melt downs and ugly crying are taken in stride. Because we know it doesn’t matter. It. Doesn’t. Matter.
There is nothing so fun as getting gussied up to go out with old girlfriends. Unlike in our youth, we aren’t comparing ourselves to one another, we are complimenting! We offer our favorite scarf to make our friend’s outfit complete. We loan our good jewelry to adorn her beauty. We overlook the scuffs on shoes that we know are her most comfortable. We tell her how beautiful she is.
My old girlfriends include some I’ve known since childhood. How different we are now from then, how alike we are again. Because the outer selves that had marriages and divorces and children and careers have fallen away, and once again we’ve chosen each other because our souls demanded it.
We have the capacity to make new old girlfriends too. We tend to recognize each other as kindred spirits when we are lucky enough to meet. That ease and comfort are there without need of time. It’s in her eyes, this sharing of knowledge about one another and the wisdom to recognize it. There’s no need to rush a friendship that may develop, it will seek it’s level like water.
We don’t squander old girlfriends. They are treasures to be hoarded and regularly polished, like good silver. The patina of the years adds value to what is already priceless.
And yet we don’t have to tend old girlfriends like the tender annuals in our garden. Old girlfriends are the heirloom roses that spring forth again and again, blooming through snow or scorching sun, releasing the heady fragrance of love and acceptance to surround us. They are dependable and reliable and when we are busy with our own concerns, they bloom on, not requiring an audience to their show.
I shudder to think how bleak my world would be without my old girlfriends. And if I’ve forgotten to tell them so, I hope they’ll read this and know I am writing to each of them. They know who they are.