I’ve always been astonished by people who seem to make friends everywhere they go. Or people who have friends all over the country. Not to mention the people who manage to stay close to friends they’ve had since childhood! Meanwhile, I have a hard time summoning the courage to even ask the people in my new office what their names are. The process of making and keeping friends, for me, is like trying to pick up sand at the beach. Depending how dry that sand is, it tends to run right through my fingers. Or, the sand will be so wet and chunky, I’ll have no choice but to shake it off violently, brushing and brushing until I can’t feel a single grain on my hands, anymore. So that’s me: walking the beach alone, day after day. Sure, it brings me joy to take in all the natural beauty that’s around me. But I also feel a painful separation from all the clusters and constellations of friends and family groups I see. Sometimes I tell myself that I’m just the kind of person who’s meant to walk through life alone. That there is strength, even power, at being able to rely on me, myself, and I for everything I need — love and companionship included. Sometimes I even feel sorry for the couples who seem attached at the hip, telling myself that they are probably weak, needy, and dependent at heart. But deep down, of course, I hold a lot sadness over my baffling exclusion from the warm and fuzzy world of close relationships. I remind myself that life is never static, and that me and my circumstances are liable to change at any time. And so I’ll hope, without ever actually believing, that I’m the kind of person who could make others want to stay. Stay with me, is what I’d like to ask someone wonderful. (Though of course, I never would.) I promise I won’t run, if you’ll only promise me you’ll stay. ❤️‍🔥—Y.B.D.