This is an ironic twist, because in allowing this verbal dross to spill out of me, I have ignored a favourite piece of advice I have often directed at S: not everything has to be said. There is a time for everything, says the Teacher, and I couldn't agree more. I have been better in the past at knowing when to speak and when not to. Evidently greater years do not equal greater wisdom; what a shame to discover this deficiency in myself at the relatively jeune age of 27.
My error with S was in speaking when I should have stayed silent. My error in other areas today has been staying silent when I should have spoken. I actually wanted to celebrate 27, in some small way. But this realisation struck me at what I perceived to be too late a moment. I didn't feel like I could send the message, make the restaurant booking, tap the friends on the shoulder. And so I didn't. As a result, at a moment where my closest friendship is one that is causing me to hold my breath, I have nowhere else to retreat. I will smile through dinner, cut the tart that I bought myself, and then come back downstairs to what I assume will be a stony silence to fall asleep.
At 27, am I loved? This is all I want to know. My slip-up with S today was to do with a perceived lack of a response to this question. This relational fracture, however, has allowed me to go deeper in answering it.
Yes, I am loved. (And liked, which is almost as important.) By God, most of all - his love is safest. By friends - even if I'm not liked by all of them, all of the time. By family - no matter how distant I am feeling from them. I am loved, I am loved, I am loved. And I will go into 27 safe in this knowledge.
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