“Friendship is born at that moment when one person says to another: ‘What! You too? I thought I was the only one.’ ”
— British poet and novelist C.S. Lewis (1868-1963)
“There’s not a word yet, for old friends who’ve just met.”
— American puppeteer Jim Henson (1936-1990)
We made a quick getaway, three women and me. Perhaps we had a smidgen of Thelma in us — and a hint of Louise. But mainly we were like school kids on spring break. After all, we were on our way up-Island for a two-day vacation at a luxury spa. We were leaving our lovely men at home. All responsibilities were on hold. Pampering would ensue.
I knew one of the women well. She had kindly reached out to me when I was new to Victoria and had eased my way into the city. We’d bonded quickly over coffee and talks about men, work and fashion — the usual stew of feminine life. Ever since, she’d been my go-to buddy through breakups, job woes and health issues. The intimacy we now enjoy is built on years of many shared moments — some inane, some profound — that together form the remarkable and soothing garment of enduring friendship. Laughter plays a large role.
But I barely knew the other two. In the past, that might have been a source of tension. When I was younger, groups of women could prove to be like a field full of explosives. Someone always seemed to be vying for someone else’s attention at another’s expense. Feelings could be tender. Jealousies skulked in dark corners.
Yet as soon as we reached the Malahat, I felt a veil of stress lift and fly away like a deflating balloon.
We arrived at the resort after a languid lunch. We would be living in one another’s pockets for 72 hours. All the same, I was already entering a blissful state of mindlessness that comes with wine, women and song. I mean that literally. We shared a bottle and a Scrabble game or two, all the while caterwauling golden oldies, unabashedly off-key.
I also found myself prepared to open the first chapter of the book of my life to these friends of a friend. All they had to do was express a desire to turn the pages. And I could sense that they would respond in kind.
Here’s what made me feel confident. The true beauty of adult female friendships is that, by nature, they seek calm waters and common ground. Women talk and talk and talk; it’s just a matter of time until they hit upon subjects that draw them closer together.
There’s a trick to finding that camaraderie, I think. Among those of our gender, a certain degree of self-deprecation tends to be part of friendship building. (I somehow doubt that’s the case with men.) Within a matter of hours, for example, we were trading anecdotes about getting lost, outdoing one another with tales of turning the wrong way here or ending up there by mistake. A budding comfort marked the beginning of the bonding process.
The facial I had was terrific. As I fell asleep later, it occurred to me that after years of trial and error, we’ve learned a few things about the true art of friendship. Certainly, every human being begins with an aptitude for making strong connections. But when we’re young, we have a way of taking talent like that for granted. We find out soon enough, though, that the innate ability to hit it off with a like-minded soul is a gift that is squandered unless it’s nurtured.
We discover this the hard way, when longstanding friendships dissolve over petty quarrels or — much worse — when we lose someone dear to us. So we refine our approach to the bonding process as we age — ever more conscious of boundaries, yet ever more willing to trust our instincts, too. If we are tentative when it comes to new friendships, it’s only because we know how valuable they are.
Still, we seek them out anyway. That’s because women have a penchant for this intimacy thing. It’s our starting point. It’s not just a nice place to visit. It’s where we live.
