My Friend is Sad

I met my friend shortly after I moved to Miami. She came to my boot camp on the beach. She quickly became a regular attender, joined in my small group personal trainings, came to events and integrated into the same group of friends I made because of boot camp. Our earliest photos are from three years ago, smiling at a birthday dinner for a friend, my first real night out in crazy Miami. She made me feel comfortable and like I belonged even though I felt like a fish out of water. Throughout the years, there are photos of our lives gradually intertwining as she intentionally invested in making sure I was feeling loved, befriended and cared for as a newbie to the area. She decided I was her friend and even before and until I fully noticed it, she took care of me like one.

I immediately adored her but we really bonded when we were both at a night out that involved Latin dancing. Neither of us were into it. We found out that a night of Pictionary or charades was our speed of fun and the first game night of many was planned on the spot.

We are not allowed to have fun at game nights. We are there to play games. No talking about life or catching up. Games. You can have some snacks, bring some snacks, be a snack, but the point is games. If this rule is ignored, she reminds you. Dryly. With great humor and wit because she is many things and one of the best things is that she is witty, funny, hilarious, and quick. We do have fun at game nights, but when the fun is too much, we immediately get back to the task at hand, games. She usually wins. Smart people like her usually do.

She does not enjoy exercise. It’s hard, it’s torture, it’s not fun. It has never become fun, no matter how faithfully she has exercised. She has a bad knee. She doesn’t like burning muscles. But since I have known her she has attended hundreds of beach workouts, trained to run 5k’s, 10k’s and half marathons and has never dropped a dumbbell without finishing a set as prescribed. She has simply done the work required to keep her body healthy, looking good and functioning like an athlete. She is an athlete, despite hating the vast majority of the process. She is what all of us should be - tenaciously committed to greatness, no matter how unpleasant the process.

She is sad. Life has offered cruel circumstances. Life has stolen loved ones. Life has twisted and turned in ways that are unfair, unjust and simply wrong. There does not appear to be clear, easy roads ahead or a point when things even out. Life is asking a lot of her. People have betrayed and are abusing her. She is not free to grab the things she most wants and to bask in the things that bring her the most joy. It is unfair.

She fights through it. She fights the gloom. She wakes up as a fighter, determined not to lose hope that sunshine will be warm and skies will be bright again. She writes the mantras. Meditates with the apps. She persists.

She works. She learns. She parents. She brings the appetizer to the gathering. She goes for the run. She picks up the kettlebell and rotates through a beach circuit workout. She sits down for the coffee and she shops for the groceries. But she is sad.

I think about her daily. Sometimes hourly. I wonder what I could say that would permeate the sad. I wonder would make her feel loved without making her feel singled out, like a burden. I scroll through my camera roll to find pictures of her and every single one makes me smile. Do they make her smile? I send a couple to her with heart emojis. I find videos of her at boot camp, displaying strength and power with an “i hate this” look on her face and I giggle. She really hates it. But she shows up in over 500 videos of workouts, faithful and committed. I post them. I shout her out. I can’t help it, she just simply matters so very much.

I see her as an incredibly strong woman. I see her as brilliant. I see her as organized, effective and hugely important. Does she see herself that way? Maybe on good days. Maybe before. Is that the saddest part? That she is so sad she can’t really bask in her own greatness?

What if she could see herself the way I see her? The way we all see her. Would it make her feel less sad? Would it make her feel stronger? Would it give her hope?

I don’t know. I wish I knew. The love in my heart for my friend is so huge. I feel it filling my chest, spreading to my face and making the tears roll down it.

My dear, sweet, friend. Why are you so sad? I know why. I know some of why.

How can I move some of my hope, my joy, my sunshine into your sweet little heart? How can I walk this for you? How can I make it better?

I don’t know.

I do know that how you feel has nothing to do with who you are.

I do know that your sadness is not your own burden to carry.

I love you. I carry it with you.

I love you. My love is bigger than your sad.

You will smile again and mean it.

You will laugh again and feel it.

You will jump up and down on that bad knee again and hate it.

I don’t know when. But until we do all of that together, I am here.