One of My Best Friends
We're so different. And yet so alike.
Kind of Wild is a weekly newsletter on trying to live ethically while still enjoying life. I am a 40-something published author, podcaster, public speaker, charity PR specialist and writer. I speak four languages and live in Brighton, UK. I’ve been vegan for over a decade. I want to save the world - but I also want to experience it.
When I’m sad, all I have to do is think of one of my best friends, and a tiny hint of a smile spreads over my face. Maybe temporarily, sure, but still.
If she were there, she’d come over and comfort me, and I’ve seen her comfort others too.
Her positivity and joyful spirit is contagious. It’s infectious, spreading through you in seconds and you forget what it was you were even mad or sad or frustrated about.
I can’t say I love a morning alarm, but meeting the sunrise with her is one of my favourite things to do. The pastel light of the beachfront, low tide, seagulls crying in the background. The smell of a takeaway cappuccino. Her eyes glinting with delight. This will be a good day, I can feel it.
Her voracious appetite brings my own passion for food into focus - the way she eats for joy reminds me that I do, too. To her, every meal is a source of happiness. I stir my chia pudding and tell myself to really savour it, the way she does her breakfast.
Like me, she cannot really tell when she’s tired until it’s too late and she can hardly move. We have that in common. We sprawl on the sofa together in front of season two of The Leftovers. I can hear her breathing calmly next to me and everything is okay, all is good with the world.
We take train journeys together and she peers curiously out of the window, watching the urban landscapes of London and the greenery of Sussex roll past. After a while she gets restless, wants to run out into the world. “Me too,” I whisper in her ear. “Me too.”
When I’m with her, I see my local neighbourhood differently. The park, the seafront, the busy streets dotted with restaurants and quirky shops. She’s so lit up by coming to visit that it lights me up too. I see my hometown through a new lens. Notice things about it that I never had before. Her curiosity rubs off on me and sitting on the pebbles is a whole new experience. We watch the waves roll in, smell the faint odour of the sea.
She’s eager to show me the areas around her own home too, like I’d never seen them before. We go on long walks, escaping the buzz of London for the softness of vast local parks. She doesn’t mind the drizzle, doesn’t care about getting dirty. My shoes are muddy but I don’t notice until we’re safely back in her flat. I sip on a herbal tea while she drinks some water. “I love you”, I say as she sits on the sofa next to me. Her eyes say, “I know.”
I’m oddly protective of her, considering that she is technically not a family member. I constantly worry about her: is she okay? Might there be something wrong that she isn’t telling me? Is she too mindful of my happiness to share her own discomfort? I keep a watchful eye when she isn’t noticing. Try to pick up on cues. The knowledge that I’d do anything to keep her safe is anxiety-inducing - more so than I expected.
I watch her sleeping in the dappled sunshine. She is safe, she is calm, she is happy - and so am I. My breath is calm and unhurried, for the first time in weeks. I exist here and now, in this simple moment, on these crumpled bedsheets, with my half-empty cup of coffee. I am present. I haven’t been in a long time.
She isn’t human, but does that matter? She makes me happier than so many humans, and our bond is deeper than the one I have with members of my own species. She isn’t mine, but that isn’t relevant to our friendship either. What matters is how happy she is to see me every time we meet. How she rolls over for cuddles every time I walk past. The way I realise that I’m actually much more similar to her than to many humans. Our personalities match and mesh together, sparking and fizzing as we roam through life side by side. I miss her when we’re apart, but I know that soon we’ll be together again. Soon, we will be rambling through green grass and frothy waves again, seeking joy in the ordinary in that way she knows so well.
This was beautiful 🥺 makes me miss my precious girl even more than I already do, which I didn't think was possible.