This past Saturday I had a migraine bad enough to put me in bed for most of the day. All I could think was this better be over by morning, because I had plans to spend the day with my best friend of 23 years. High tea, and a walk through Caramoor’s gardens after.
As I opened my eyes, I sighed and did a little high five. The migraine had dissipated. I had the most incredible afternoon sipping tea, having finger sandwiches, and walking with my bestie through the gorgeous grounds. When I got home I could not help but reflect on what a gift the day was. Not the tea, although it was so fun, but the friendship.
D and I met when my daughter, Emily, was less than four months old. Her daughter had met me at Friday night services and spent the entire evening wanting to hold Emily. How could I say no to this little girl with the most spectacular ringlets and wide eyes?
The next morning I ran into her and her mom. D walked up to me and said her daughter told us we needed to be best friends (we both knew it was so she could continue to hold Emily). We laughed because we were onto her daughter, who was sheepishly watching this conversation. The rest is history. They’ve been stuck with me ever since.
When I say stuck, this month marks twenty-three years of a friendship that has spanned our kids’ graduations, engagements, the loss of parents, three brain surgeries, starting Indie Lee, and everything in between. The highs and the lowest of the lows, she has been there for me every step of the way. She was with me for every appointment before my first brain surgery, helped me get my affairs in order when the odds were against me, and was there when I opened my eyes to the rest of my life. There were long walks while I was still turning the idea of this brand over out loud, thinking maybe. I honestly don’t know if there would be a brand if the ultimate hype girl wasn’t there telling me I could. She was there with me past midnight years ago, wrapping a candle collection in cellophane so it would be ready in time. I officiated her wedding when she remarried (I mean, how else could we make sure I was there beside her). Twenty years in, she was the one I wanted to be there waiting for me when I walked off the TEDx stage this past March. I mean she literally is the only one who I trust with ALL my passwords.
There is a kind of friendship where you stop needing to explain yourself. The one where neither of you has to perform being fine for the other one. It’s a rarity, a treasure, and I don’t take it for granted.
Eighteen years ago I was told I had six months to live. That was the year the two of us started texting each other Good Morning Sunshine, first thing, every single day. GMS, we call it now. It came from her. It came from a woman deciding that if six months was the number, every morning was going to start with someone telling the other one she mattered. Eighteen years later, wherever either of us is in the world, the text still comes. I don’t think she knows how much all of this means to me.
That is what this past Sunday was. Not just tea and a walk through the gardens, but time with the person who taught me a single good morning text can carry you eighteen years. She taught me that eighteen years and three words might be the most reliable thing I have ever built, more reliable than the brand, more reliable than any stage.
Here is the thing we don’t say enough. Friendships like this are not the backdrop to a good life. They are the good life. If you have a D of your own, tell them. Not twenty three years from now, not saved up for a eulogy. Today, in three words or three hundred. Hold onto them. They are the gift.
Tomorrow’s Good Morning Sunshine is getting more than three words.
XoXo,
Indie
I’m glad you got rid of that headache!
All of this. One positive thing I got out of 9/11 was ensuring that I spend more time telling people that matter to me not just that they matter but why they matter.