Tonight, one of my best friends met me for dinner. We have this thing where every few weeks we just meet up and run down the same tracks of conversation that we always do. And we go to the same place and we order the same drinks, and we catch up.
And there’s something beautifully comfortable about that. I can count on her to make me feel better, to listen. And I can count on her to fill me in on every detail of her life so that I feel closer to her even when I’m not.
So I’m not suprised when I start waxing philosophical (like really hard) about life and I’m going on and on about my views on the world, which should make me incredibly vulnerable and make me feel crazy, when she says in the most admiring tone; “I love you.” And we laugh because we get it. We get each other. And in the face of everything, we know that we could say anything to each other, and we know we’d meet again in a few weeks for dinner, to do it all over again.
And I wish that for all my readers, all my friends, and everyone I meet. Not that you have a friend to have dinner with, although that’s nice. But a friend who understands you on a truly deeper level. Who is fully prepared to hear your opinion on the world and love you not in spite of it, but because of it. Because you get it, and so do they.
Because a full heart is so much better than a full belly.