I met my best friend when we were both four. It was a clear winter’s morning in the small town where we grew up, and she was sitting on the front steps of the small photography business her dad owned. I had wandered out of the building where my mom worked as a receptionist, bored and looking for a playmate. We eyed each other for a while till eventually I plucked up the courage to go over and say hello. I don’t remember exactly what happened next, but our lives were to continue in a steady parallel from that day on: we attended the same nursery school, primary school and high school, and we would end up sharing a classroom for the next 12 years.
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We weren’t always close; our friendship has gone through stages, and when I moved overseas long periods of time passed where we didn’t talk. But she was always an intrinsic part of the fabric of my life, (almost) matching me in terms of naughtiness; a dependable partner in crime with whom I would bunk school and get up to mischief, and who I could count on to have fun with. And she was one of the first people I would go and see when I was back in town for a visit. As people, we are pretty different, and I wonder whether, if we met each other now at a party, say, we would even get along. But it’s the kind of relationship where there is so much shared history and such a strong bond that other details become irrelevant.
And that’s how it is when you get older: the casual friendships and people you partied with in your 20s and early 30s … you just don’t have the energy for all that any more. It’s your kids, family and friends-who-are-family who take centre stage, and you develop a whole new appreciation for the people who know you as well as you know yourself. You don’t have to explain – they get it. You don’t have to apologise – they understand.
Not everyone is lucky enough to come from a large, loving, supportive family, and that’s where friends come in. As a grown-up, you get to choose your family from a select group of individuals who have been there for you through the hard times. The ones who have your back; involved themselves in your children’s lives; remembered your parents’ birthdays; showed up for the deaths. It’s not always blood relatives who end up being these people. And that’s okay. If you have a brother from another mother or a sister from another mister, count yourself lucky. They’re as good as the real deal. Sometimes they’re even better because they’re there by choice.
The biggest study on happiness and longevity ever conducted was done by Harvard University in the US and ran for 80 years, following people from birth to death. It clearly showed that living a long life closely correlates with the kinds of connections we have with other humans. Lonely people die young, while those who live longest are the ones who have people to talk to; friends they can call on; people they trust and with whom they can share their happiness and sorrow. More than anything we can eat or drink or do at the gym, feeling connected to other humans is what really keeps us healthy and strong.
When my bestie of 42 years sends me a ridiculous WhatsApp (like she did a few lines into writing this piece) that makes me chuckle and pen an equally ridiculous response, it feels like nothing more than a fun diversion from the monotony of the weekday. But what we are really doing is reminding each other that we’re not alone; that even when things are trying (as they have been for both of us for different reasons), we still have the capacity for humour. And, actually, our need for companionship at 46 isn’t that different from what it was at four. It seems that in some ways we human beings aren’t that complicated after all.
Susan Hayden is the voice behind the popular blog Disco Pants & A Mountain
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