I have a thing for losing earrings. I never lose both earrings in a pair, but I always end up losing one of them. Each time I lose an earring, after tearing apart all the cushions and searching all the possible places I went while wearing it, I can’t help but feel upset about the loss. In a way, I attached myself to the earring I just lost; part of me identified with it, even if it just captured an aesthetic or helped me acquire a specific look or appearance. But here’s the thing: everything in our lives is impermanent. From your favorite pair of shoes you wear everyday, to your friends, nothing will be in your life forever. As humans, it comes naturally to attach ourselves to different things, ideas, and people. They make up our identity and shape us into who we are and who we want to be. So, when you lose something, it forces you into a position where you’re suddenly missing what used to be part of your identity, no matter how small. It’s uncomfortable, hard, and oftentimes a battle to reconcile with.
Coming into college, I had a best friend of seven years, and I was absolutely convinced that she was to be a part of my life forever. We both decided to go to the same college, and I didn’t lack a single bit of confidence in the strength of our friendship. I imagined us taking on college together, experiencing new people and new events but still having each other to lean back on. However, as soon as college started, my best friend started distancing herself from me. My first instinct was to reach out to her, ask if I had done anything wrong that could’ve upset her, because when we feel something that’s so important to us and our identity starting to slip away, of course we want to cling onto it, to find a way to keep it how it was. Upon reaching out to her, she reassured me that no, I hadn’t done anything wrong and yes, she cared about our friendship and wanted to maintain it.
Sadly, that didn’t happen; despite my desperately wanting to keep our friendship as close as it was, my best friend became more and more distant. This felt gut-wrenching, much more painful than losing any earring could possibly be. I spent nights crying over my loss, overanalyzing what made her not want me in her life anymore. And whenever I would see her on campus, my heart practically beat out of my chest knowing that I couldn’t run up to her and give her a big hug and make funny comments like I used to, because when I would try and approach her, I was met with a reaction that made me feel insignificant to her. It was as though I was just someone she went to high school with, not someone she had been best friends with for years. Being in a position where I was forced to accept that we weren’t going to be best friends forever like I thought we would be – especially since there was never an explanation as to why she chose to stop being friends with me – challenged my identity, challenged the beliefs I had over what forever really meant. The expectation of something lasting forever makes it so much harder when that thing gets stripped away from you.
Trying to find ways to cope with my friendship loss eventually led me to the realization that – while people may not be in our lives forever – pieces of them always will be. Whether they introduced you to a song or artist that has become one of your forever favorites, whether they are in some of your most fond childhood memories, whether they expanded your perspective towards life in any way, these are the parts of them that will continue to stay with you. When I find myself feeling the pang of hurt that arises when I think about my old best friend, I remind myself of the precious moments I got to share with her, how we would do the weirdest things together, with one of us always peeing ourselves from laughing so hard, how I got to grow with her throughout middle and high school as we learned more about ourselves and transitioned into womanhood, and I look back on the videos we would make being our silly sixth grade selves, and I can’t help but laugh at the innocent, goofy girls we were. I will always hold a spot for her in my heart, and I can do that while still being okay that she isn’t my best friend anymore.
Despite losing my friendship with her, I continue to make friendships with new people who I call my best friends now. New people, who have allowed me to grow even more, feel seen and understood, and develop an appreciation simply for our paths crossing when they did, knowing that – while they may not last forever – I can certainly treasure them and what they bring into my life today. As for my earrings, well, I guess I’ll just have to buy another pair.