“Become for yourself the person you want to find.”
Cheri Huber, Zen teacher and writer
“In order to find peace within, I have heard, you must learn to become your own best friend. Though the sentiment makes my inner “tough girl” cringe, I knew, during that summer two years ago, that it was true. I had to begin cultivating a friendship with myself, seeking out the positive in me so that I and I could be in the same room without killing each other. If I was ever going to have a lasting relationship with another person, I was going to have to become a person that I liked, a person that I could say in all sincerity was pretty great, someone who inspired me, loved me, listened to me, someone I could imagine being with for life. I was going to have to become the person I wanted to find.
“How did I begin to do this? With a lot of help and patience and, most importantly, a sense of humor.
“To approach the difficult aspects of the self is, well, difficult. So I asked for help; from friends, from people who knew more than me about how to live a spiritually rich life, and from a higher power; out of desperation, I practiced blind faith, concluding that any brand of faith was better than none at all. The collection of answers I received from all directions could have been woven into a long, soft, colorful scarf draped around my neck for all to see. The guidance, simple and precious, is this: seek out joy. Wherever you can, as often as possible, and in the most ordinary of moments.
“So I started small -— a cup of coffee in the morning with my cat Cleo on my lap, sandalwood incense, reading poetry out loud in my living room to no one but Cleo for an audience, Latin music on my stereo at the end of a long day -— and worked my way up.
“Now on my growing list of things that bring me joy (salsa dancing), soothe me (being surrounded by shelves and shelves of books), and inspire me (live performance), my friendships with other women are at the top of my list. They have been as essential as oxygen. These past two years, I have reached out like never before and, as a result, my friendships are flourishing.
“I am back in touch with a friend in Arizona, with whom I’d lost touch: our daily email exchange is rich, loving, helpful. I speak twice a month with another long-distance friend who, when my world shrunk, I’d drifted from. A friend from graduate school and I make phone dates to talk about our current writing projects and encourage each other to keep at it.
“The emotional intimacy my friendships provide makes up for lack of romantic connection in ways I never could have imagined. While nearly every one of my close friends is partnered, each has shown me that romance is something I don’t need to sit around and wait for. There are candles and baths. Old movies and flowers. Poetry readings and concerts and walks in the woods.
“My friends gently point out that I would never treat them the way I sometimes treat myself; the longer I let myself stay sad, they remind me, the sadder I will get. They say: you are doing much better than you think you are. They tell me: feel whatever it is you feel, it’s okay, just don’t make it worse. I count on one friend to relay my favorite teaching: “It’s okay,” she says. “Eat a slice of pizza. Have some chocolate. It won’t kill you.” God bless her.
“Near and far, at work and online, my friends sustain me. We talk on the phone. We email. We make art together. We hang blinds. And we talk. And talk. And talk.
“Then I come home to my empty apartment, after I’ve done everything I can to avoid it, sit in my living room and visit with the person who is fast becoming one of my best friends: me. It is one of the stormier relationships in my life yet the most important one I’ll ever have. There is no substitute for depending on myself first and foremost for the things I need most: love, friendship, fun.
“So when I am home, and I am lonely, and I start to sink, I allow myself to sink, for a short time. Then I get up, and I make do: make dinner, make a call, take a drive to the bookstore. Or I just put on Tito Puente and a light summer dress and let my hips do their thing.”
from Being Mine, by Laura Didyk
http://www.kripalu.org/article/379
