Real

Joining Lisa-Jo and fabulous others for Five Minute Friday, where we write for five short minutes and don’t waste time editing. We link up then cheer each other on.

Today’s prompt is: REAL.

Go.

Photo of me by Carrie Bowers Photography

I told her that I didn’t have time for fake, for fluff, for surface conversations. I told her I wanted the real thing. Because the older I get, the less I have patience or need even, for friendships that skim the surface, without ever really taking the plunge.

If I ask you how you’re doing, I want to know.

I don’t want to talk about the weather per se, unless it’s truly a worthy conversation, as in, you had tornadoes or hailstone the size of baseballs.

It’s not that I don’t care, it’s just that life is short and uncertain and if we’re going to be friends, I want to know you. I want to see your unmade face and your wild untamed-humidity-induced frizz.

I want what’s real.

I’ve worn some kind of costume or mask my whole life. As a people pleaser, I didn’t even know I was doing it until the last few years, and even now, knowing it, I still struggle with just being real.

Real is scary.

Real is risky.

Real is raw and unkempt.

But real can be beautiful and honest. Real takes you as you are and says, it’s just fine with me.

Real offers grace and an arm around a shoulder and a tissue for out-of-nowhere tears.

I have a few real friends now. More than ever in my life and yet fewer friends over all than ever. But these are the ones I treasure. The real ones who show me their heart and who I can show mine too, in all it’s messy, frizzy, distracted, unkempt glory.

Thanks for accepting my real.

stop.

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