Let’s call her Sandy. Actually there were two of them and neither one of them were Sandys but ironically they both had the same name. What are chances of that? I must have some kind of karma with “Sandys”.
These weren’t just any friends. These Sandys were best friends—you see each other every single day kind of best friends; you share your first apartment as a grownup/you live together/work together kind of friends. I loved my Sandys.
And then both of them on a dime, not at the same time, they actually lived in periods of time that only slightly overlapped, dropped off the face of the earth.
Stopped returning calls.
Ignored notes.
Literally fell off the face of the earth.
They weren’t sick and nothing was wrong and they hadn’t had some crisis of epic proportion. I knew this fully well from our circle of mutual friends and colleagues.
They were fine. But my relationship with them was over; done; capoot; finito; the end and I had no idea what I’d done.
No idea whatsoever.
It was stunning really. And it was stunning that it happened twice. And it was stunning that they both were named “Sandy.” And it was stunning that it happened literally overnight.
One moment? Dinners, lunches, stories, laughter, phone calls.
The next? Total and complete radio silence.
Pin drop silence.
One of my Sandys circled back about a year later. She wanted to have lunch. I said yes.
It was really good to see her. As hurt and upset as I had been by everything this was still one of my best friends and it was so incredibly good to see her.
I was like a little kid in a candy shop.
We hugged. We sat down and ordered lunch. It was like no time had passed. I thought we were going to be best friends again. Then Sandy said “I wanted to tell you what happened. You deserve that much.” I could tell by the tone of her voice that we weren’t going to be best friends again and my stomach sank.
She apologized for how she’d treated me and went on to explain.
“I just couldn’t do it. I just felt bad every time I saw you.”
I was stunned. What was she talking about?
“You’d say you were going to Paris and then you’d go. You’d say you were going to get a new job and then you’d get one. You’d say it and then it’d happen. I just couldn’t take it. It just made me feel really bad. There I was and nothing was ever different. Nothing ever happened and it just got to the point where I just couldn’t do it.” (I’m paraphrasing but this is the gist).
Incomprehension hovered. Tears welled up in my eyes and eventually started spilling once I fully understood what she was saying.
It wasn’t something I had done.
It was something that I was.
It was the something that I be.
I could feel some frantic child inside of me trying to scramble and rearrange herself into what Sandy would want to be best friends with. That child almost got me swept up in her plan.
I was about ready to plead—“but I could change. I could do less. I could just not tell you when things happen” (and by the way there was plenty of bad stuff in this mix too, just to set the record straight. My life has never just been a walk through a lilac grove; but what it has been is one that I don’t shy away from because when I do I shrivel up and tank—in a big way. So I have no choice but to step up and in and up and in over and over).
So, yes, I was ready to be someone else. Sell my soul for my best friend. Of course, you and I both know that never would have worked. But for a few minutes sitting at Armand’s Pizzeria on Wisconsin Avenue circa 1987 I was ready to give it my all of a try.
Instead I just looked at her through tears and said “I’m sorry.”
It was barely audible.
It was such a little voice.
It wasn’t an I’m sorry I did that to you. It wasn’t an I’m sorry because I did something wrong. It was an I’m sorry—so sorry for both of us—that that was your experience. I’m so sorry we can’t be best friends anymore and thank you so much for coming to telling me.
I had a thousand stories about what happened and this, I can assure you, wasn’t even remotely a part of any of those versions.
I’m working with clients and myself right now a lot on the theme of playing small. It seems to be one of the themes of the day. And it’s not so much about playing small really, it’s about being called to be bigger.
This morning when I went into meditation I brought along the intention that I would get some guidance.
I came out with this memory.
It’s a memory I haven’t thought of in years but it’s absolutely a better example than anything I could’ve come up with on my own of a time when I was ready to chuck my authenticity and my bigness and play very, crushingly small.
I’m so glad I didn’t.
