I Hope You're Happy, My Friend

I have a very dear friend, who has been part of my life for over 20 years now. We've referred to one another as BFFs, adopting teenage lingo because it seems to reflect how we feel about each other, even though we are very far from our teenage days. We can go for many days, even weeks, without talking, then can pick up our conversation pretty much where we left off, and talk for hours about anything and everything. She is someone I've been able to talk to about every facet of my life, stuff I don't even tell my husband. We once drove to Iowa with our daughters for a dance competition, and literally talked for 1000 miles and back. I thought she might sleep for part of the drive, but we never ran out of topics to discuss! And we both relished the opportunity to hash out life's problems and come up with what we thought were perfect solutions. I miss those days. I miss her.

Life throws many changes our way, sometimes seemingly out of the blue. Such has been my journey the past couple of years. I've discovered things about myself that have surprised me, and those closest to me. I'm no longer a practicing, devout, card-carrying, active Mormon. And I'm happier than I ever thought I'd be, joyfully embracing my beliefs, and lack thereof, allowing myself to explore wherever my heart and mind lead. My new favorite song is Louis Armstrong's "What a Wonderful World." It perfectly describes how I greet each new day, and how I feel about this world we inhabit. And the people who inhabit the planet alongside me. I feel lighter, unburdened by other's expectations, more authentic and whole. More me than I've ever been.

My friend has been very distressed at the changes in me. She is very devout, and the trials of her life over the past few years have strengthened her devotion to the church, and her testimony of the Savior. She finds great comfort and strength in actively living the LDS life, and I don't begrudge her this. To the contrary, I think she is exactly where she needs to be, surrounded by those who feel as she does, who provide for her the sense of community that she has desperately needed. In my limited understanding of God, I think it's very possible that He, or She, provides for each of us what we need to thrive here in this life. The universe has seemed to be very responsive to my pleas for help, leading me to people who have assisted me in finding my way, and I believe the same is true for her. This is where I'm supposed to be, and the church is where she is supposed to be. There is no condescension in my position, no feeling that I'm somehow more enlightened than she is. We are each simply where we need to be, where we can figure out who we are in our centers, and how to live with integrity and authenticity.

Problem is, I don't think she has reached the same conclusion. She tries, I have to give her that, but I can feel her condescension. And her grief. She has told me of the many nights she's cried herself to sleep thinking about me and my 'loss of faith'. I know that she disapproves of my position; she has told me so. She has asked, "Why can't you just believe?" And she wanted to know if I felt 'dark' now without the presence of the Holy Ghost in my life. She asked if I was really so stubborn that I could stand in front of God at the judgment day and refuse to acknowledge the truthfulness of his church and gospel. And she looks at me differently now, a look that speaks of superiority, secure in her position as one who is in the right, though still loving the lost sheep. I feel her pity, and I know she does not recognize the joy I feel in my life now. She sees only darkness where she believed there once was light. Her grief is coloring our relationship gray, at least from my perspective. I'm sure she'd say that my unbelief was the game-changer. Herein lies the dilemma. How do we maintain a friendship that was once so rich and meaningful, when we are looking at one another across a deep, expansive, seemingly unbreachable divide?

Early in my journey, I heard the song "Defying Gravity", from the musical Wicked, and it touched me deeply. I felt the words as Elphaba sang them, "Something has changed within me, something is not the same. I'm through with playing by the rules of someone else's game. Too late for second-guessing, too late to go back to sleep, it's time to trust my instincts, close my eyes and leap." I'd belt the song along with Idina Menzel while driving, moved to tears many times by the idea of calling the shots for myself, being my own authority, taking my life into my own hands and making it mine. Mine. Not a reflection of my parents, or church leaders, or friends. Taking the leap, "through accepting limits 'cuz someone says they're so..." It has been one of my favorite faith transition songs.

I heard this song again this week while listening to Pandora radio, and I heard something new this time. The relationship between Elphaba and Glinda is played out from the beginning of the song until the end. Glinda asks, much like my friend did, "why couldn't you have stayed.... I hope you're happy now... you hurt your cause forever, I hope you think you're clever." I hear my friend's voice asking me the same things. I hope you're happy now. With that tone that says, "Of course, you can't be happy now! You're so clearly on the wrong side of the issue!" And Elphaba responds with the same tone, both then singing, "Though I can't imagine how, I hope you're happy right now..." There is that great divide.

Through the course of the song, they both come to understand that what is right for one is not right for both. Elphaba needs to follow where her heart and conscience lead, as does Glinda, though they will not end up in the same place. And they come to understand that the divide isn't unbreachable after all; they can love one another from where they are, and truly hope for happiness for the other. Glinda says, "I hope you're happy, now that you're choosing this..." to which Elphaba replies, "You too-- I hope it brings you bliss." Then comes the refrain that burned itself deep into my heart, sung by both: "I really hope you get it, and you don't live to regret it. I hope you're happy in the end, I hope you're happy, my friend."

(The universe does indeed work in mysterious ways.... this song just started on Pandora radio, playing in the background while I write! Karma, indeed! And I'm in tears again!)

This is what I want. I want my friend to hope that I'm happy, and to let me go where my happiness leads, without judgment or mourning. "I hope you're happy, my friend." My friend. I want her to see my journey as legitimate, right for me. I realize that my hope may not ever come to pass, that her beliefs may not allow her to rejoice with me as I pave new ground. But, until that day comes, I will mourn our friendship with as much grief as she feels for my path. I miss her, and I'm sad as I contemplate a life without her phone calls, and Sonic runs, and long intimate conversations about anything and everything. I miss my friend, and I hope she's happy.