why are we FRIENDS?
What is the glue that binds different personalities together through thick and thin?
She’s earth and fire and I’m water and air. If we lived in the 100acre wood she’d be Tigger and I’d be Piglet.
Vicky and I are complete opposites. She is bold, proactive and enthusiastic. She speaks with her arms, throwing them out from her body to illustrate her points. Three things she says a lot are, ‘It will be great!’, ‘I’ve done my research’ and ‘That’s so interesting’. I sometimes wave my hands about, but my elbows are always in. What I say a lot is, ‘I’m not sure about that’, ‘I haven’t got round to it yet’ and ‘I don’t mind – you choose’.
Vicky clambers up mountains with hardy hikers. I stroll round the nice flat common, alone. She’s a powerful swimmer and does laps at the gym. I bob in the shallows at the beach, trying not to get my hair wet. She is a leader and a doer; I’m a follower and a procrastinator. She’s earth and fire and I’m water and air. If we lived in the 100-acre wood she’d be Tigger and I’d be Piglet. You get the picture.
We met many years ago at a women’s retreat. She was a facilitator and I was a participant, on assignment for FAIRLADY. My job was to document what happens when 15 women go into the mountains together for a week. I was not at all sure about this adventure (Snakes? Dehydration? Oversharing?) but I got into the activities and, as the story title – Naked in
the Wind – suggests, out of my clothes. The things I’ve done for this magazine.
The friendship was forged, and even though life took us in different directions and we lost touch for long periods, we could always pick up the threads with ease. Now we live a kilometre apart and see each other frequently.
Different strokes
Despite our long history, we are still surprised when the other acts true to form. Me: ‘You’ve ordered the winter firewood? But Vicky, it’s not even summer yet!’ Vicky: ‘Why haven’t you painted the last window? Doesn’t it bother you that the whites don’t match?’
Vicky sometimes sends an early morning WhatsApp: Shall we meet for breakfast? She is usually up with the lark, sweeping her immaculate courtyard, so when she messages me she’s ready to walk out of the door. I’ll need 45 minutes, I reply, rolling out of bed. When I arrive at the coffee shop panting, she says, ‘What do you do in the morning?’
‘Well, I have hot water and lemon and do some yoga stretches. Then I make my bed, shower, dry my hair and get dressed. If I don’t feel right, I have to start again. Then I choose my earrings, bag and scarf and put on my lipstick. Then I have to find my glasses and then I drive here. I think I’m quite speedy.’
Vicky is amazed. She owns several pairs of black jeans and a row of perfectly ironed shirts. She adds a zip-up fleece if she’s cold. She has two pairs of closed shoes; one for corporate occasions and the other was left so long in the cupboard that the soles cracked in half when she walked over to my house. I had to drive her home. So now she just wears slip-slops year round and always carries the same black leather backpack. It takes her exactly two minutes to dress.
‘Why don’t you just put on what you wore yesterday?’ she asks.
‘Unthinkable!’ I say. ‘I don’t feel the same today as I felt yesterday. A girl must have options.’
Vicky is passionate about learning. She devours fat tomes and covers flip chart pages in colourful mind maps. There is not a single novel on her bookshelf. I don’t think she’s ever read one. ‘Why would I, when I can read about real people’s lives and the things that make a difference?’ she asks.
I’m passionate about stories and Scrabble and what makes people tick. We are both big readers, but I can only take so much ‘improving’ literature. Typically, I’ll have a book on writing, a memoir and a novel open at the same time. I cannot imagine my life without the transporting benefits of fiction.
Vicky gets so carried away with her studies that she sometimes forgets to stock her fridge, unless she’s entertaining. Then she lays on a good spread, but she has to be reminded to serve it. Once she invited a like-minded friend to dinner and the conversation was so stimulating that she didn’t notice until he’d left – at midnight – that the meal was still in the kitchen.
In my house we eat first, then talk. I always know what’s for supper and usually make enough for two. ‘I can’t believe you haven’t got anything in your fridge,’ I say when she pops in, starving. ‘I can’t believe you go to all this trouble for one,’ she says, watching me ladle the curry.
The other day while discussing work isolation, Vicky remarked, ‘If I were you, I’d ask people who do what you do to share their ideas.’
‘But they wouldn’t want to do that!’
‘Extraordinary how your first port of call is always why something won’t work,’ she said. ‘I go straight to thinking that they would love to share! Not sharing is very oldfashioned, you know.’ Then she quoted some study on 21st century business trends in a collaborative culture.
‘But we aren’t really team players,’ I protested, choking on my G&T as I visualised a motley assortment of alarmed, secretive writers in one of Vicky’s conversation circles. She sighed. ‘Here’s the difference: I’m dynamic – I go out and make things happen. You are magnetic – you attract things to you. So the challenge, then, is for me to expand my magnetism and for you to expand your dynamism.’
Give and take
And there lies the secret to successful friendship: the willingness to meet each other halfway. Through witnessing and naming our quirks we have learned to understand that there are different, equally valid ways to be in the world. We know many of each other’s friends, but independently we are also part of professional and private circles that have never intersected. We go our separate ways and make no demands on each other until there is a build-up of news and the need to download. We appreciate each other’s skills. When I despaired of finding a rain tank that would fit through my door, Vicky, who had done her research, knew who to call. When she created reams of written material for a project, I knew how to shape and cut it. We’ve supported each other through heartbreak and happiness and have discussed everything from the most private concerns to the biggest dreams. I’ve seen Vicky step up to commitment and responsibility in remarkable ways. She’s seen me dig deep for resilience and creative solutions when things have been tight.
I can depend on her for a fresh, honest perspective; she can depend on me to listen with attention. We always enjoy connecting because what we share is the work of communication, a love of storytelling, a similar set of values and a tendency to find our differences hilarious.
‘If you were an animal, what would you be?’ she asks. ‘Hmm, I’m social, but occasionally aloof and lazy. Probably a cat or an otter. You?’
‘Dog. Definitely dog. Loyal and lively.’ I haven’t seen Vicky for a few days, so I’m half expecting to hear a tuneful ‘Yoo-hoo!’ at my gate. She’ll have walked here for exercise and won’t want to disturb me if I’m working. But she’ll be all smiles and wagging tail and of course I’ll invite her in and pour us a drink. ‘Do you want to stay for supper?’ ‘Do you have enough?’ ‘What do you think?’ ‘But I walked here.’ ‘I’ll drive you home later.’ ‘That will be great!’ ‘Okay, sorted. Now for the news. You go first…. ✤
I can depend on her for a fresh, honest perspective; she can depend on me to listen with attention.