I got invited to a birthday party!
This fruit of my labor is crisp and sweet—especially since there was no guarantee such an invite would ever come. You see, I want to belong. And when we moved to Georgia, it was important to me that, in addition to family, I’d develop my own friendships—ones that weren’t attached to Dave or Evelyn, but rooted in my own identity and needs.
So when my BumbleBFF acquaintance Kim invited me to her book club, I saw it as a foot in the door—even though it started with faceless strangers in a room far down the hall, all chatting it up and enjoying each other while I stood on the outside.
But I wanted in. So I showed up. I showed up at restaurants not knowing who was a random plus-one and who was actually in the club. I listened in on conversations where I had no history, no inside jokes, and nothing to contribute. I did this several times—each time slightly easier than the last—but I kept telling myself: If nothing else, you’re out of the house, enjoying a meal, and you got to read a book. Things could be worse.
This last book club was different. I’d picked the book. I’d picked the restaurant. And when I walked up to the four women waiting for our table, they instantly disarmed me with big smiles and compliments on my haircut and summery dress. I felt seen. Cared for. Like I belonged. Whether we were discussing the book, diving into moral psychology from The Righteous Mind, or just catching up on life, I left that night with a sense of accomplishment and pride.
I did that, I thought.
So the following week, while wading in the pool with Dave, I felt a strong urge to give back—to open up our home for dinner and welcome their spouses. I wanted to grow these connections, to nurture this little community that had started to nurture me.
And then I got a call from Lori—one of the book club’s founding members—on behalf of Melissa, whose husband wanted to throw her a surprise birthday party. A Wicked-themed lunch, adult beverages, a movie or games, and a dress-up request: Glinda or Elphaba.
Elphaba, it is. Saturday it is.
I bought a $1.25 black long-sleeved dress from Goodwill and am eyeing a construction paper hat. The kitchen broom and green face paint will make their way into the mix, too. I’ll make her a loaf of sourdough bread for a gift.
And so, I’ll show up.
Because even though that was the hardest part, it no longer is. So I’ll sit back, dress up as a witch and enjoy the ride on my broom.
Love, Jaclynn
Going On 40 