I don’t know if it’s that September nudge but after a lengthy summer where everyone scatters and friendships retreat to Facebook catchups, this week I’ve ended up reconnecting with lots of different groups of pals, with invites arriving for lunches, dinners, parties and weekend get-togethers. Desperate (me) and disparate (them), it includes a writers lunch, a business lunch catch up, a Dublin gathering of some women I met on holiday, another weekend at mine of old friends, some dinner parties, a party and a few individual nights out.
It feels like a beautiful rain shower on a hot day.
I am so grateful for these amazing women in my life. Recently I got annoyed at some discussion on the radio about our new-found love of ‘flawed’ women characters. The Emma’s. The Brigid Jones. The Fleabags. The Vilanelles and Eves. And so many more. What really pissed me off was this idea that they were being praised for being flawed women. They aren’t! They are perfect portrayals of women – complicated, confused, conflicting. Flawed. It’s the women characters that are portrayed as perfect that are flawed. This perfectionist pressure that women fall foul of has to stop.
Who the fuck is perfect? Not me, and thankfully, not my friends.
So seeing my calendar ablaze with social nourishment reminds me of the happiness research that always comes back to this: happiness is social not material.
My perfectly flawed friends form my “3am Tribe.” They’re the one’s I’m happily still chatting and cackling with at 3am on a night out, and they’re the ones who would pick up the phone at 3am if I called and needed help.
One of the best parts of getting to this incredible stage of life is that we aren’t as driven by the number of ‘likes’ we get, but by choosing who we like to actually spend our time and energy with.
Surround yourself with the people who lift you, not bring you down. And let’s celebrate our perfectly flawed friends.