“Now I know who my real friends are.” We’ve probably all heard this; maybe we’ve said it ourselves. I know I’ve thought it. That “Now” can apply to countless situations. The shock, hurt, and often the bitterness conveyed by these words are transparent.
When encountering someone I had lost touch with, the story they share with me is often of an earth-shaking life change: a family death, divorce, illness, becoming a family caregiver. Each circumstance involves upheaval, with increased demands that feel overwhelming. These encounters often end with “Now I know…” A nod, a shrug, affixing a sad smile on my face is about all I can manage to offer.
It’s easy to feel outrage toward those apparently unfeeling friends, family members, or even anonymous government entities who let us down. No matter the level of support we do receive, in these crises, nothing ever feels like it is enough.
I’ve had time to think about this predicament a lot while learning to live in a changed body/changed life myself. Many loved ones did step in (repeatedly). New people entered my life (eventually). And yet, I am able to see how my life has played out only in retrospect. In the midst of big life changes it is usually impossible to imagine anything changing. But it will.
A slip of the tongue led me into the world of professional storytelling, bringing into my life new friends. I was introduced to the world of folk dancing by some of these storytelling friends. This led me to contra dancing (it’s like square dancing but in long lines, in pairs).
I grew to love the feeling of dancing, moving to music in rhythm with others. Circling around, reaching out for partners who would grasp my hand firmly and close up the circle of the dance offered a tangible sense of connection.
Each circle lasts but a moment, then breaks apart as pairs of dancers move onto the next group. The new pairs will then create another circle. Holding on and letting go; both are important life skills that play out repeatedly on the wooden boards of the dance floor.
When our life shifts on its axis, many of those we counted on in the past are flung out of our orbit. Or perhaps we have actually been flung out of theirs. Of those we had previously considered our best friends, a few ARE somehow able to continue dancing with us even as the music shifts from a major to a minor key. The steady beat of our past life becomes disrupted and transformed into an unpredictable and irregular rhythm. How difficult it is for even the most skilled dancer to match our steps.
After brain surgery left my right side paralyzed, I wondered if I would ever dance again. Those same dancers who had willingly reached out and included me in my “other life” continued to dance without me. Regardless of how much they reached out, I was unable to grasp their hands in return. These “friends” were not the ones who changed. I had.
Thankfully, as I regained movement, I was able to return to the dance. In fact, dancing became an essential tool for healing. When I physically reached out, as I had before, a neighboring dancer would grasp my hand for a few steps, then let me go, allowing me to continue the dance in another direction as they set off on their own path.
To refuse to hold on disrupts the dance. To hold on too tightly, too long, can cause a train wreck on the dance floor! This repeated practice of holding on lightly and letting go freely allowed me to internalize an ancient knowing that had eluded me till then.
Reach out and extend a hand when we can to help close up the circle and allow the dance to continue. Be as ready to let go when the circle opens back up and our partners in the dance move on. Above all, listen for the music. It will tell us when to start, to stop, and to turn. In the end we may be surprised by who we find next to us.
There is another unexpected (at least to me) side to living in a changed life. The very same change in circumstances that left us feeling so isolated may result in encounters that probably would never have occurred without that drastic shift. A number of people who had not previously been in my life recognized my need and were able to imagine how they could help fill it, then followed through on that insight.
Can we snap our fingers and make this sort of support happen? No. And when we need support badly, help does not always appear on our own time schedule. Yes, God provides, but his timing has never seemed to line up with my own calendar. Not to put too fine a point on it, but this is pretty disappointing.
Have I got this all figured out? Not yet. What I know is that when I hear you are learning who your real friends are, I will wish that I could take you dancing. Just for a little while. Just until you get some of what you need. Just until you find the dance that works for you.
Marjorie
Marjorie Turner Hollman is a writer who loves the outdoors, and is the author of Easy Walks in Massachusetts, 2nd edition, More Easy Walks in Massachusetts, 2nd edition, Easy Walks and Paddles in the Ten Mile River Watershed, Easy Walks South of Boston and Finding Easy Walks Wherever You Are. Her memoir, the backstory of Easy Walks, is My Liturgy of Easy Walks: Reclaiming hope in a world turned upside down.
Marjorie Turner Hollman 