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The Meaning Is in the Mess
“I … hope that there is meaning in mess and pain, that more will be revealed, and that truth and beauty will somehow win out in the end.” — Anne Lamott
Life is messy, sometimes unbelievably messy. What enables us to survive, more or less intact? Connecting with friends who will laugh with us and have our backs when we need them most.
When your dog miraculously poops into the furnace duct with enough volume and liquidity to extinguish the pilot light, and your friend’s partner has to crawl under the house in the middle of the night to turn off the gas, she will text you, “Lol…shit happens.” And offer to dog-sit, again.
When you’re invited to Thanksgiving dinner at the home of a friend of a friend, your host’s date will, of course, be the man you’ve been chatting with nightly on Ok Cupid. With a wink of recognition, neither of you will mention it — but your friend will join you in cringing when your host sits on Ok Cupid’s lap and whispers sweet nothings into his ear. In that moment your friend’s leg nudge will mean everything — and you will only make it through dinner because she’s sharing the bench seat and you know you’ll both laugh about it on the way home.
In your youth, clueless older men will hit on you with regularity, while the young men you really like will come in too hot and repel you. Danger, Will Robinson…
