Love and other wine.

Tonight was one of those nights that the city sparkled. The streets were mine, and New York became one giant castle. It was the kind of night where anything was possible. My initial spark of interest in New York was rekindled. What had I been missing these past few months? Possibility. I had taken away New York’s credibility, sworn that it wasn’t good for anything, and told it that nothing was possible. I forgot that in this city, everything is possible. Because in one second, I went from comforting a friend to being interrupted by two strangers. They happened to be Italian, and I happened to speak Italian. There I was, in the middle of the street, speaking Italian to two perfect strangers. I left with two new friends. 

After I granted the power of possibility back to New York, I realized that life was much more ambiguous than it ever was before. We live in the grey area. Sometimes I hate how crowded it is; how many people live here. And then I love it, because I can control my anonymity. I love the beautiful nature of anonymity. The choices we make with the power to disappear are what make us realize what we truly fear.

Tonight, I also learned to never underestimate the power of a good girl’s night with wine. Lots of wine. 

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Best friends.

I knew there were two friends I could truly call my “best”, but they share two very different, yet equally amazing, relationships with me. I refer to both of them as my best friend, so much so, that as I talk about them in conversation, people who don’t know them can never tell which one I’m talking about. It can be confusing, seeing as one is married with a child and the other is as single as could be and loving it.

In fact, they’re almost like polar opposites. One of them has tattoos, gauged ears and at one point sported some amazing dread locks. The other looks like Taylor Swift. (I don’t lie) I met one of them in nursery and the other one in high school. But they both have had such an amazing impact on my life.

The problem I have is that I don’t think the word “best” does any justice to their level of commitment to our friendship – to me. Best is the absolute superlative of ‘good’, which somehow makes it sound like their friendship is somewhat performance based. But that’s the farthest thing from this relationship. Yet I hesitate to settle for “closest” friends, because a lot of people know me fairly well,

But when they were holding me, letting me cry with a bottle of wine because the man I thought I would marry introduced me to his fiancee, I realized two things.

Somehow, somewhere, I grew up.

And my best friends grew up with me.

 

It was beautiful, you know. It was one of those moments captured in a novel that rarely plays out in real life. It was the triumph of friendship, of ultimate companionship and camaraderie, and it was truly beautiful.