It starts with my best face, my best chit chat, my best me. A brief warmth and pressure, hands touching, nothing more. Tentative, sanitized, easy.
Next, we test the waters. Lining up topics from lightest to heaviest. Basic information with hints of personality. I don’t always follow the rules, I overshare, I talk too much and listen too little. Did you really want to know about my day? Did I really want to know about yours?
If all goes well and life allows, we invest something. Some time. Some memory. Some effort. Venturing onto private property, dishes in the sink, lego on the floor… I’ll show you mine, if you show me yours.
Time is the final ingredient. The yeast in the dough. Settling in, getting messy, sticking it out for the hard stuff. I’ll show you me, if you let me see you.
It’s not like it used to be. When “wanna be my friend?” wasn’t quite so complicated. When clicking “confirm” didn’t mean anything.
So here’s me, where making friends at 38 is different for a whole lot of reasons, but definitely worth the effort.