Friendly.

I’m not sure why, but I always get my best thinking done in the car. These days, despite being a New Yorker, my “car time” is to and from work as I live in Manhattan and reverse-commute to Hoboken every day. During that 25-55 minutes, depending on departure time and the fickleness of NYC traffic, I’m either chatting away with my close friend and coworker (we carpool in the dog-wagon) or I am reading through the magnified script of my thoughts, which are about as coherent as a CVS receipt that won’t stop printing.

This morning, with my co-pilot already on the train to work, I was left to my own devices to ponder the meaning of life. Not really. In reality, I almost mowed down a pedestrian while making a right hand turn (I swear they came out of nowhere) and spent the entire route to the Lincoln Tunnel attempting to regain composure and white-knuckling it around every corner. But, as I was passing under an unusually rough and iceberg-ridden Hudson River, my mind turned to friendships; and the cast of characters I’m lucky enough to know as my true friends.

One of my favorite parts about being over the hill is the diversity of the friends I’m privileged to know. Some are old friends, but others I’ve met fairly recently. Note, making friends at age 30, although difficult, is not impossible. Recently, I decided to reach out to an acquaintance I knew was going through a hard time and voila! A friendship was born. While it may feel awkward putting yourself out there (she definitely thought I was hitting on her at first, but it potato/potahto), it was definitely worth the possibility she might think I’m a crazy person.

My friends put up with a lot. I’m not the best communicator in the world, and it is sometimes months between speaking to those friends who live far away. I have a slightly moody disposition and feel the best audience for that particular personality trait is my friends. I’m not a flake, I hope, but my RSVP’s expire at about 10:00 pm – so if we go out for dinner and drinks there’s a 40% chance I’ll Irish exit after dinner. I’m a control freak and hate to ride in cars with lots of people. I’ve been known to find large group activities overwhelming. And lastly, because I talk more than anyone you’ll ever meet, you can count on my stream of consciousness filling any moments of silence with sarcastic commentary that can be likened to an overly zealous horse-race announcer with a bad attitude.

There’s a friend in particular that not only puts up with me, but seems to enjoy the fact that I have no problem sharing my raucous inner monologue at any and all times. Instead of rolling her eyes at my attempts cover minor social anxiety with cynicism; she always bursts out laughing convinced I’m the funniest person in the room. She’s also getting married this month, so I wanted to make sure she knows just how excited we all are to see her down the aisle. Paulina, since fifth grade I’ve know you as our Peanut. Your infectious personality spreads warmth and happiness wherever you go; there is absolutely no one more deserving of this upcoming celebration than you. You are literally pure sunshine.

While not all my friends share Paulina’s commitment to and support of my sense of humor, I can count on every single one of them to provide me the truth in times when a reality check might be in order. In the Kernan family we suffer from a curious affliction I, too, fall victim to intermittently. I’m a self-proclaimed expert on absolutely everything. This disorder is so rampant across every generation of our family we use the acronym EOE to denote moments and times where someone might be especially symptomatic. “You’re being an EOE, Brynn. I don’t care how many AC units you have in your walk-up, you have no idea how to install central air conditioning so stop pretending you’re a mechanical engineer.” Alas, even the most stable of Kernan geniuses often requires regular checks to ensure we are accurately seeing our reflection in the mirror.

I’ve found friends are the best at smacking me in the face with the truth when I seem hell bent on ignoring it. Working in sales, I spend a considerable amount of time trying to perfect the subtle art of manipulation. The cost of preening that particular skill, however, is that I sometimes find myself using it in my own life. Thinking in typed paragraphs (literally in my head it’s like a typewriter that I see when I close my eyes) is all fun and games until you realize the author is also the editor. When something I’d like to forget happens – like an argument with someone – I’ll just make the appropriate edits to the transcript in my mind and all will be well. But, my friends can see the red ink scribbled across my forehead. They know when I’m in need of their help or choosing to ignore something I shouldn’t.

Thanks guys for always being the ones to tell me to… “GET YOUR SHIT TOGETHER, CAROL.” One such beauty that has been known to wrangle with the beast that is my friendship is Farleigh. She’s my twin pea from the pod formed sophomore in my baby blue VW Bug, and you’ll find us in the posture depicted above whenever we’re together. Sometimes you need that friend you just fit with to keep you in check without judgment or fear. She nods at my freak flag and helps me hoist it high into the sky. Truly our friendship is yin and yang, bob and weave, we fly in any weather.

And to those friends who may assume I’ve fallen off the face of the earth cross my mind almost daily. You’ve got an awkward text apology with a phone call a week later coming your way.

Now, as much as I’d like to continue this ramble you know how my “hanger” can act up if not kept on a strict feeding schedule.