I should begin every ramble by espousing the fact that I have been thinking; and that, yes, I probably do think too much. But I can’t help it. This is how I approach situations and this is how I come to understand myself and my world. And I do try to do both. I am constantly just saying I want to understand and I guess that is what we all want in the end: a little bit of understanding. And it seems one of the places we turn to most for it is from friendship. We’re not all lucky enough to have a significant other or partner, some of us don’t have family to speak of or at least, not family we trust, but we all have friends. Every one of us shares in the excitement that is a friendship and so we turn to these people when we need to understand and to be understood.
People always try to distinguish true friends from friends from acquaintances, but in the end, I am finding that those labels are just things that we apply to pretend there is a difference and that we know how to define them. I don’t think a difference exists. And I have heard friendship built up as something noble and worthy, something like a faithful dog sticking by its master. That’s what true friendship is, people exclaim; but even a faithful dog will bite the hand that feeds it, sometimes for no reason at all. I am not saying there is not something special about a true friend, but by trying to get a ‘true’ friend to fit into a singularly defined space is trying to fit the square peg into the triangular hole – you might manage it, but only after knocking the sides down a bit and while you’re struggling with the task at hand, you’ve neglected the triangles that are laying about, waiting to be discovered. What I mean is this: we have all these characteristics that make for a good friend. I have heard people tell me that a good friend to them is someone who can just accept them the way they are, no questions asked. But acceptance does not mean not questioning. And it does not mean blind faith. I can accept you for who you are, the life you lead, but asking you questions about yourself and your choices does not make me less accepting. It means I am curious and interested in understanding. And accepting someone does not always mean that they will accept you in return – your idiosyncrasies, your needs and wants. I have known people who wanted me to accept them as they were, but challenged me constantly about not being more like them. And in the end, their friendship did not matter. To always be explaining yourself to someone, especially to a friend, perhaps shows a lack of a bond, a common thread, a link. But in the end, I think it just shows a lack of giving as good as you want to get.
I have heard it said that friends – true friends – will stick by you through it all. But I don’t think that is always true. I think friends, like any other people in our life, have the right to walk away from us and our relationship when things are working, when the challenge is too great, or when they just need a breather. I don’t think friendship dies in the moment that you decide to step back from a friendship. Sometimes, it is the thing that strengthens it. Who else but a true friend could value you enough to leave it be instead of pushing it aside or worse, constantly harassing you about the situation? I have walked away from friendships, often not knowing if it was the right course, not knowing if we could ever be friends again and I have agonized. There are still times I agonize about choices in the past that I choose to make, but nonetheless it was often a decision I had to take to find my way forward without constantly looking back. And even now, there are friendships that have faltered and died in the moment but I still consider them friends. I would still be able to pour over why and how the person was necessary in my life, without feeling bitter or vengeful about it, even if I can still feel sad. They are no less or no more of a friend that the person who finds their way back to you when you step aside, even if it lasts no longer than the blink of an eye.
I think my friends will do many things for me throughout my life. Some will disagree; some will agree; some will challenge and some will side with me; some will understand me and some will constantly try to undermine me. Some of the closest may let me down, and they will all hurt me given half a chance and all my heart. But in the end, they are all friends, good or bad. They are all people I have given that label to. They are the ones I turn to when I want understanding and they are the ones I turn to, to try to understand myself better. They are the ones who make me think, make me ponder – whether they are aware of it or not. And they are the ones who will always count. Because in this life, friendship is the only thing that is freely given and something we have all power over.
I am realizing that I have a problem. I feel short. I know I am not - everything tells me I am not. I am taller than most of my female friends. I am taller than the average for women, by a good two inches at least. I even know that I technically 'qualify' to shop in the Tall section of most stores, because I am over five six (the normal definition of where tall starts for women) but I feel short. I have a complex about it.
It may have come about from my years growing up. My half sister was model material - tall, lanky, gorgeous. My dad always stood (and still stands) head and shoulders above the crowd, tall and intimidating. Even though my mom is a nice petite 5' 4" (if even that much), she is petite - slender, slim, slimmer than I am, and thus, appears to be about my height. Same with my brothers - while standing only an inch or so taller than I do, they are more slender and so have the illusion of height. I feel like the squat little troll of the family. The dwarf if you will....
And this has led to some creative solutions. I have always - always, loved heels. I think heels are gorgeous - and for me practical; from the moment I could start buying my own shoes, I was buying everything that stood three inches or more off the ground. Even my sandals had to have a platform base of no less than three inches (my best friend has horror stories of the rainbow clod hopper sandals, which I still to this day remember fondly!!). And I was happy. I could finally sashay with the best of them, and I could finally stand tall. But then the inevitable - I was forced to be more sensible. A physical mar, and then dislocating my knee meant that I had to step gingerly. I still tried to walk tall, sticking to platforms instead of heels, but it was not the same. I was walking on two barges of footwear instead of strutting what my mamma gave me on two thin dangerous lines.....
You can only imagine the relief when eight years ago, physical imperfections were fixed and after learning to walk again, I found myself standing tall once more. Sure, I had lost about a inch in height but it was barely noticeable (and remains so to this day, unless I get really tired). And I started to buy - everything pretty, in a size nine, that was three inches or more. I discovered favourites that I still hold dear (Nine West is my poison of choice). I learnt how to differentiate between shoes that were practical, walkable, made me stand tall when standing versus those that were meant to be seen, appreciated, but not really used except to walk from the front door to the cab to the club.
Is it any surprise that I own six pairs of flats in total? That every other shoe is some gorgeous creation, that allows me to totter around, but makes me happy to do so? That one of the first things in London I discovered was to never enter Covent Garden shod in shoes spindly and high, least you be scraping yourself off the cobblestones before the night out has even begun? The idea of dating someone tall crosses my mind - no need to pander to ego and wear more flats or - god forbid - sensible heels (you know, those little one inch heels suitable for running around during work hours). Instead, I crave for someone over six foot tall, someone whose eyes I can look into and shoulders I can lean on....as I adjust the ankle strap on my Bertie beauties!!!!
What I mean is this: we have all these characteristics that make for a good friend. I have heard people tell me that a good friend to them is someone who can just accept them the way they are, no questions asked. But acceptance does not mean not questioning. And it does not mean blind faith. I can accept you for who you are, the life you lead, but asking you questions about yourself and your choices does not make me less accepting. It means I am curious and interested in understanding. And accepting someone does not always mean that they will accept you in return – your idiosyncrasies, your needs and wants. I have known people who wanted me to accept them as they were, but challenged me constantly about not being more like them. And in the end, their friendship did not matter. To always be explaining yourself to someone, especially to a friend, perhaps shows a lack of a bond, a common thread, a link. But in the end, I think it just shows a lack of giving as good as you want to get. 
