She thought I was lonely.
Jenny's remark came bundled in a retelling of a conversation she had had recently with her mother, one where I had been praised for being the kind of woman - don't laugh - who was still 'cool' and my own person and not just a mommy. She wondered if I was lonely.
I chewed on this comment for days.
Who was I to complain when I have been blessed with a solid family, from the day of my birth to the one I was creating?
I was social. I was well-liked, generally.
Yet I knew she was right.
I had made little effort since I had becoming a mother, caught in a role that didn't fit like a glove. At least, not at first. Acquaintances passed for friendship. I hardly made time, between work and my family, to see old friends, true friendships that had passed the course of time. And I though I loved the young people I worked with, people like Jenny, my life with a husband and diapers made me different, in a different season of life.
It was time I start reaching out; friendship and companionship, my prayer.
At first, it wasn't easy. Our school had its share of cliques and I wasn't sure if anyone was on the market. I started accepting more playdates. My husband started traveling and I quit my job, which left me even more lonely for a while, but opened up my schedule.
I started showing up. I started blogging. I started.
I lost touch with Jenny some time ago. I came across a note she gave me over the summer, her words meaning more to me than she could know.
(I'm starting to feel older these days, a little further down the path. There's something about a remarkable younger woman looking up to you that does the soul good, even if it makes me blush.)
I couldn't be happier for her.