When I was 11—in the sixth grade, riding the bus home from school—I sat next to a girl who I was sure was a seventh grader. She was calm and aloof and adorable. At that time, I was just realizing the truth about my hair and my nose and acknowledging all of that was making me rather insecure. This girl I was sitting beside wasn't insecure, so she couldn't have been my age. But she was.
Which I found out after I introduced myself to her, right after I made her promise to be my friend.
After the introductions I remember thinking I'd never known a Natalie before. And although I've met many Natalies since, the first Natalie I ever met has been, for more than 14 years now, my Natalie. It turned out she was five days older than me, although born in a completely different year and that made me giggle, and it still does. (Admittedly, I didn't giggle much the year she was 21 on New Year's Eve and I was the designated driver who drank MILK.)
I've thought a lot about Natalie since starting this blog because no one—not my husband (he sees me as much cuter) and not my mom (she sees me the way I'd prefer the whole world to see me, DAMN NEAR PERFECT)—sees me the way Natalie does. I call her, often, the voice inside my head because she is responsible, impressive, downright together. Natalie believes in me. And loves me. I say that with complete certainty, and in my life I'm a lot of things, but certain isn't one of them.
Natalie is supportive of this hobby and doesn't think it's weird that I'm going to San Francisco next summer to attend a blogging convention. Natalie doesn't think it's weird that I do anything. Natalie has always understood, even when she doesn't agree.
My husband is adorable and smart and funny and so many incredible things that I am sometimes shocked the universe decided I deserve to be with him. But when I evaluate Natalie and all that she stands for and represents, I am blown away that she chose me as her best friend.
Natalie moved to the D/FW area a few months back, from Houston. We haven't lived in the same vicinity since we lived together in college, almost four years ago. We don't see each other as often as we'd like. Maybe once a week. But having her here—calling her and knowing she'll answer, laughing so hard while listening to her recount her day, seeing her comments on my blog— is a huge, throbbing part of me.
Natalie is a huge, throbbing part of me.
When Natalie and I were in high school, I began dating someone who took me away from life and friends and all that I knew before him. For two years Natalie and I only spoke when one or the other would randomly show up at the other person's house, desperate to rewind the clock. After this guy and I broke up, I remember driving past Natalie's house (it was a 30-second drive from my house) slowly and deliberately, while thinking Stop and talk to her already. She'll always love you. You must know that.
And yes, I've always known.
When I think about blog ideas, what will touch my readers, what will make them feel inspired to comment or e-mail, what will keep them coming back, I sometimes find myself at a loss. But I came across this post yesterday. And that last line, wow, it struck me.
Perfect the way I am.
Natalie is all wrapped up in who I am.
Ally, life isn't always easy or kind or simple or smooth or pleasant or colorful. But with you around, life always makes sense.
::
Ninth grade, before the junior varsity drill team banquet.
Natalie and her itty-bitty waist on my wedding day. Her smile was just as genuine as mine.