Years ago someone told me that I was their "comfortable friend."
Really? I was dismayed. Comfortable? Why couldn't I be your inspiring friend? Or hilarious? What about your fascinating or really talented friend?
Comfortable, to me, meant I was akin to a large sofa. And, even though I knew she meant it was a compliment, it didn't feel like one in that moment.
It took me a little bit of time to realize fully what she meant and perhaps it wasn't so far off from being a human-sofa. When you've had a really, really crappy day, isn't there some part of you that just wants to be enveloped in soft cushions and plush fabric? You want to sigh and let the worries of the day fall off your shoulders so that you can just "be".
That friend trusted me with the most precious parts of her life. She let me into her world and allowed me to mourn and grieve and, yes, to rejoice with her. And I realized that being her "comfortable friend" was really one of the highest honors she could give me.
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