In one of my favorite pieces of writing, an article called 7 Reasons the 21st Century is Making You Miserable, author David Wong describes how the number of close and trusted friends that most of us have in our lives is drastically dropping. Most of us, he says, have at most two people we feel we could confide in, and about a quarter of us have no one.
Given these statistics, I've been fortunate in my life to have a number of close and trusted friends, many of whom I've either been lucky enough to know for a lifetime, or hope to know for a lifetime from now. But for the last 20 years, the good fortune that has been a part of my adult life in a way that goes beyond friendship--that has been companion, sister, partner, and soulmate--is Laura.
Laura is the best, in the way that I know that all your best friends are the best. She is smart, and funny, and brave and beautiful. She is faithful, and always has your back. She is the definition of humility, and sacrifices herself for others. She has a list of other good qualities a mile long. But Laura also has a superpower, and it is this--Laura knows.
She knows all the things that I don't know, like how to re-create a perfect replica of Chico's tacos, and how to do math problems that have "infinity" as a possible answer, and how to put a strip of toilet paper over the sensors on those awful automatic flush toilets to keep them from flushing before you want them to. She knows about science. She knows about engineering. She knows about education. She knows about marketing. She knows about pets and shoes and hair and jewelry and how to make tamales without a recipe and how to lay shingles on a roof. She knows the right questions to ask about everything, all the time, even when she's just hearing about that thing for the first time. She knows how to think about things, and how to think about people--how to listen and learn and understand.
Most of all, Laura knows about me.
By that, I mean that Laura knows the real me. There is no part of my life that is off-limits to her, or hidden from her. She knows all my stories, all my secrets. She has been there, not just for me at my best, but for me at my worst, and then some. She doesn't think I'm some otherwordly saint, or wise counselor, or supermom--she knows I'm nothing special. She has seen, and keeps on seeing, all the ways I'm broken, messed up, selfish, prideful, foolish, wrongheaded, and blind. Laura knows exactly who I am.
To be honest, it hurts a little to know that Laura knows all this. I guess I'd like it if she thought I was the most special person, you know? Sort of a perfect person, without all that bad stuff.
But you know what the best part is? Laura does that too. She does that anyway. She believes I am special. The difference is, I just don't have to live up to the impossible standard of being free of all those other things.
Laura has taught me--is teaching me--the most important thing I need to know in life, which is that this is how love works. This is what it means to be the Beloved. She is helping me learn to be less of all those wounded, broken things; and, even when I can't, she is leading me to live better with myself and others. She is doing all this just by loving me as I am--as if I'm the most special just the way I am.
And I am strangely willing to take her word for it, because if there's one thing I'm sure of, it's that Laura knows.
Laura has taught me--is teaching me--the most important thing I need to know in life, which is that this is how love works. This is what it means to be the Beloved. She is helping me learn to be less of all those wounded, broken things; and, even when I can't, she is leading me to live better with myself and others. She is doing all this just by loving me as I am--as if I'm the most special just the way I am.
And I am strangely willing to take her word for it, because if there's one thing I'm sure of, it's that Laura knows.
