I don’t spend much time, if any, reflecting on my life and how I wish it were different—partly, because I find it fairly satisfying — mainly, because I just don’t have the time. But a friend of mine, whom I’ll call Jane, seems to be obsessed with hers.
“I think I’m becoming one of those weird people who have been single too long,” Jane recently confessed to me.
“Yeah, probably,” I responded, way too quickly, far too honestly. But I’ve known this gal for almost 40 years and I can be pretty darn open with her, which is maybe why we’re still friends. Or not. More likely, it’s because our childhood backgrounds are so strikingly similar that we each know exactly where the other is coming from, literally.