I caught up with an old friend recently and it felt so nice to see him. We went to Sunday school together, laughed when we weren’t supposed to far too much and grew up through school together. He’s one of those friends who just radiates joy; you get so excited to see them, you don’t have to give a second thought to what you’ll talk about and you know you’ll leave them with the springiest spring in your step, energised. And this time was no different, except we had some kinda deep conversations. It’d been two years since we’d seen each other – a new house, new jobs for partners, another baby and health kicks between us – but what struck me most was that we seem to have – finally – grown up a bit. It’s like your hair growing; you don’t see it happening, then one day you realise it’s longer than it was. We used to have a good old bitch about everything, but no more. We’ve mellowed.
Who am I kidding? We’re both still pretty highly strung, but gone were the mean girls-type catty remarks and in with the content, positive vibes. And it was good. I didn’t see it, but the bitchy jokes that I used to make are gone. Because it’s nice to be nice and it’s shitty to be shitty. Maybe the boys have made me realise that more than ever I want to treat people how I want to be treated and I want them to be that example. It would break my heart to see them be nasty, or intolerant, or unkind. And that’s a responsibility I have (and share with everyone who’s part of their life). For the past while I’ve made a conscious effort to do a nice thing every day for someone who looks like they’ve enough on their plate. Selfishly, it makes me feel happy, but maybe it’ll make one day nicer than it would’ve been for another person. And that has to be good, right?