Putting on my Serious Face to talk about friendships.

I had a conversation with a friend last week about relationships. Friendships, actually. But it's been on my mind ever since, and has me wondering if I'm missing some sort of gene. I'm lucky. In the last few years alone, I've met so many fantastic people, and developed amazing friendships in the most unlikely of ways. When I step back and look at the big picture, I have a lot of friends, and I'm thankful for that. Some of those relationships are stronger than others, and some of those friends come and go, but I'm blessed to have them when they're here.

But the thing I've lacked since I was a kid - a teenager, even - is a best friend. Until recently, I threw that label around quite a bit because I do have, what I consider to be, "best friends." They're the people closest to me, who've been around for all of my formative years - good and bad. I can go to them for anything, and I hope them to me. But the common thread amongst my best friends is that they all have a best friend. Their person. When you think of one, you think of the other.

So right now I'm at a crux. Wondering if it makes me sad to know I lack that one person, or if under it all, I'm lucky to have multiple people whom I consider to be "home." And I don't know why, suddenly, this revelation has had such an effect on me. I'm not lonely. I don't feel put out in any way that my best friend's best friend isn't me. But I think I feel like I'm missing something. And what if I am?

During the conversation, where my friend and I found ourselves in the same best-friendless boat, she brought up a good point. Maybe we're meant to have a handful of amazing friendships, each relationship bringing a different value to my life, much like a puzzle. Put together all the people to make one, giant best friend. Instead of one, small one?

Or that was just a really good analogy to make us feel better. I mean, it worked.

While I don't feel alone now, I'm afraid of feeling alone later. And really, this is just my super secret insecurities talking. Or blogging, rather. You understand. Of course no one wants to feel alone. It's not like I'm alone in this (pardon the pun). But when I'm 82, and dying alone, because clearly I'm incapable of coming across a man who's not knee-deep in a life I can't be a part of, and someone needs to contact my next of kin, because obviously I'll outlive my entire family, who are they going to call?

(No. No, not Ghostbusters.)

Well I've got 54 years to figure that out.

And, people, these are the things weighing on my mind at the moment. Yes. Yes, I do need to get out of my head. I also need a nap. And to finish washing my laundry. So don't worry, I'll add it to the list.