I must confess that I have had several unexpected friendships in life— at first glance I thought the person would be uninteresting and that I would have nothing in common with them. I was proved wrong, but I think I can be forgiven as I was a but a child then. We learn so much through our mistakes whether we are willing to accept that or not, and some of my most enlightening friendships have been the unexpected ones that have crossed my path.
My friend died a year ago, and ours was a most extraordinary and unexpected friendship because we were complete opposites. Our first interaction resulted in my needing to down a glass of wine with a cigarette—I never thought for a moment that the irritating woman on the phone would become my friend. Later, she would be the one I would confide my innermost fears to, the friend I could discuss anything with and know that she would never judge but would listen, and who encouraged me, and appreciated me for who I am.
There are friends that we choose because they are convenient or because they are useful, but true friendships are those that naturally evolve when you least expect it. Anne, was old and not in particularly good health so her passing was not a shock. She was nearly twice my age and lived a nomadic spiritual life on the road, and I, by contrast was a city girl from London. She more or less lived hand to mouth, and no one dashed to be her friend, by those that choose friends by where they lived as a ruse to visit a city to gain free accommodation. No one expected us to become friends, and no one would have ever understand our friendship either.
We had different views on many things including our outlook on life and the world at large, yet we learnt from each other as we were from different worlds and generations. She was warm, optimistic and kind, and I was/am cynical, skeptical and at times sarcastic. I saw her as a cool and trendy granny if you will, and wanted to help her when I knew she was either getting taken advantage of or when she was getting scammed. One of her greatest talents was listening, and respecting your views and opinions. That is a trait few have these days.
I met Anne while I was volunteering at one those hip and trendy spiritual retreats out in the middle of nowhere. I soon discovered that there was nothing hip or spiritual about the place, but as I was in the middle of nowhere I was trapped until an exit plan could be executed. My first impressions of Anne were over the phone, and it was a most painful experience where she kept cutting out, then she couldn’t hear me (bad reception) and then her credit ran out and I had to call her back. I thought she was a crazy babbling eccentric and my initial thought afterwards was that at least I didn’t have to meet her.
After clearing some negative air at the retreat, I chose to stay on also because I believe we shouldn’t runaway from problems and should try to tackle them. Perhaps it wasn’t the spiritual retreat, and it was me that was the problem? I eventually met Anne, who turned up for the workshop that I had booked her on. She was petite, bright, not as loud as I expected for a New Yorker, softly spoken, and so warm and generous that I felt guilty for my mean thoughts about her when we had first spoken. Almost immediately, I felt quite protective over her as she was a people pleaser and some spiritual folks have a tendency to be a little naive at times—too trusting and they can get used easily. I am one thing, and that is loyal friend, and that means I am protective of my friends and hate to see people using them.
Anne had been a regular at the retreat and knew nearly everyone. However, she wasn’t rich or well-connected in the business sense, and so most people were friendly towards her but made little to no effort to get to know her because she wasn’t ‘useful’. She was good to have a conversation with to pass the time, and the go to person if you couldn’t find anyone else to do something for you. As an outsider, I could see how people treated her from the get go, and that irked me despite my judging her harshly early on. I had learnt not to judge someone based on how they look or what they can offer in a friendship, and it irritated me that others would treat her like dirt with a smile, and use her to carry out the worst tasks. She was, as I said was a people pleaser and old-style spiritual people simply believe in doing what is necessary for what they believe is for the greater good.
We would go for walks and talk about everything, exchange tales and ideas, and as she was Jewish, I learnt about the customs and her way of life. I admired her faith and free spirit, and I asked if I could tag along with her when she told me of her adventures. There is always a down side to such freedoms though, and that is insecurity and having to live off the kindness of friends and family in rotation, and to keep in with the organisers and bosses of the spiritual festivals and retreats that she frequented throughout the year. She was one of those harmless souls that fitted in easily anywhere. Everyone knew of her and liked her, but few really knew her. I was one of the lucky ones that did get to know her, because I was able to see what an incredible person she was.
In later years, our friendship continued through long and open emails, where we made plans for when we would meet up, talk of our sorrows, frustrations in life, and discuss things that had inspired us. I knew that one day she would not reply to an email, and that was because she had passed, and I had prepared myself for that day from the start, or so I had thought. Each time I received an email in my inbox, my face lit up and my heart skipped a beat—she was still alive!
I would star it, scan it quickly to see if she was still in the library (she would always state exactly how long she would be in the library) and if so would speed read and reply so that I didn’t have to wait another month for a reply. I made time for her emails, which meant they were read at the end of the day with no distractions or interference. They were long and at times rambled, but I am sure I too had rambled in my replies, but that’s okay among friends. I always felt lifted after reading an email, and was eager to reply with my thoughts and questions. How many friends write letters and emails that inspire you to reply exuberantly and immediately these days?
The world is a little less bright without Anne, but she isn’t in pain and that’s what matters. She died at home in her sleep— I think is the best way to go. Ours was not a traditional friendship, yet it was one of the most fulfilling ones I have had to date where we both taught each other things about ourselves, and her ability to be warm and generous with her time has softened my steely cynical resolve (a little). There are several important things she taught me—it doesn’t matter what other people think of you, to believe in yourself, and don’t be afraid to follow your path and should you falter, keep going and never give up. When she died, I was going to write a poem for her but the words never fell into place, and upon seeing three black cats in 24 hours, decided to write a short story as a tribute to our friendship instead. I’m sure she’ll be happy about that and probably sent the cats to cross my path.