Tylenol Moments

There are multiple levels of friendship.  Upgrades and downgrades dependent on your comfort, length of acquaintance, how much you've had to drink.  These things ebb and flow, to be sure, but I've always been pretty careful to create and maintain a solid group of top level friendships and a copious number of mid level relationships to keep things interesting.  I'm an extrovert, and like all extroverts, I thrive on the creation of new relationships, new inside jokes, new dependencies, new shared experience. I seek out such things and have no trouble, in general, in forming a tight knit family of friends.

It has been harder for me in Minnesota, however, than anywhere I have ever lived.  I made friends faster with locals in Morocco, where my language skills were embarassing and my country of origin occasionally offensive, than I have in my new home.  I credit that in part to cultural differences and the habits of life in this  Upper Midwest city.  Many people I met here were from here.  Maybe they moved away for a chunk of time, but they always came back.  That is high praise, of course, for the city itself.  But that kind of experience means you have everything in common with 85% of other young Minnesotans who also grew up in Apple Valley, Golden Valley, Pick A Valley, etc., and nothing in common with a girl who thinks 40 degrees is cold and inserts "y'all" and "mercy" and "heavens" in more scenarios than most Minnesotans would think possible.

I don't know how a non-Upper Midwestern introvert would survive here.  I at least have the benefit of brazen presumption of awesomehood.  I am an excellent friend.  I make excellent cookies.  I tell good stories.  I'm funny.  I can assure you that you will want to be my friend.  And that confidence worked in my favor up here.  I don't want to admit to how many times I invited myself along to various events in conversations I wasn't wholly a part of.  But that "Hi, I'm Rachel. I'm not from here. Does the snow ever melt? Want to be my friend?" attitude eventually did win me friendships, or opportunities for friendships. 

But it has still taken time, lots of time, to build friendships that feel important. It always takes time to connect to someone, but without the daily warzone of law school or Peace Corps or college, the progress is much slower.  I have a handful of friends who I care for deeply and I think the feeling is mutual.  It has been a long time coming but a tiny moment of friendship flashed upon me tonight that I wanted to record for posterity.  It's a really silly, simple thing. 

Nice, somewhat cursory friendships are comfy and quick to invite you to a movie.  There's no risk there.  Sometimes they might even ask you out to dinner, or maybe over for a party.  It's only with time that cursory, maybe accidental friendships build a foundation of habit and comfort that stand up to the more mundane favors of life.  I met my current Bible Study coleader maybe 18 months ago.  We were tossed together for co-leading purposes strictly due to our living in the same part of town and being available at similar times.  We didn't know each other exceptionally well at the time and I imagine we both were hopeful and trusting that God had the nuts and bolts figured out on how our personalities would jive.  In coleading with Dan over the last two years I've found him to be a kind, solid soul with a remarkable thirst for knowledge and laughter.  He's a dear friend.  Important.

Tonight he called me around 8 p.m., sounding like a lukewarm cup of death.  And in the exhausted voice of someone desperate for a coma, he asked if I by any chance had some Tylenol PM on hand. Poor kid.  I drove it over, felt his forehead, told him he had a temp and needed to go to bed. He agreed and I hope he's completely knocked out as I write this.  He thanked me and I wished him happy, health-improving dreams.

 As I was driving away, I was happy to have been there. Happy to have felt his forehead, happy he was tucking in with a bit of comfort (though drug-induced). But mostly I was simply happy he'd asked me for help. His friend.  It's the simple exchanges that communicate the most.  The movies and dinners and parties are so forgettable. The grand gestures so rarely happen.  But an extra pillow for an unexpected guest. The swapping of books because you both love Austen. The I'm-in-the-neighborhood-drop-in-for-tea. The pained request for Tylenol.  They're what real friends do. Not mid level friends.  Not the superficial ones. 

Real Friends bring Tylenol.  And Real Friends ask for it.