What Do You Do When You Outgrow Your Friends?
There are two things in life that every girl needs: a good friend and a good pair of jeans. Both are hard to come by, but when you find them, you hold onto them, because only they can give you the support and the comfort you need whenever you need it.
But what happens when you outgrow your friends…or your jeans?
I found my jeans early in life. Even at such a young age, I knew that they were something I wanted to wear forever. I loved the way they made me look; how confident I was wearing them. And even though they were brand new, they felt as though I had had them for years. They were perfectly worn; like they were custom made just for me.
As time went by, I came to appreciate them more and more; how their durability could withstand the wear and tear of life; and that despite any fads or trends, I could always count on them. They were always in style.
Every rip, fade, and fray was a reminder of all of the things we had been through. Preschool, puberty, graduations, marriages, motherhood, and divorce, those jeans and I had gone through everything, and I had expected us to go through so much more, until we were both tattered and worn.
But somewhere along the way something happened to those jeans. Something happened to us. It was as if they had shrunk and I had grown. It was something that I didn’t want to admit to myself, because on their own, they still looked like the same jeans, and for the most part, I still looked like the same person (plus a few pounds). Together though, together we just looked wrong. We looked uncomfortable. And as much as I wanted them to stretch to the size that I needed, as much as I tried to squeeze into them and make them work, they just didn’t fit anymore. We didn’t fit, and I had to accept that.
They were no longer right for me, but I still kept them, and every day as I looked through my closet for something to wear, I still thought of them. I still wanted to slip them on, but then I would remember the struggle that it now took. So every time, I’d push them to the side and try to find something else that would make me feel as confident and comfortable as those jeans did.
As the days and weeks went by, they got pushed further and further back into my closet, until I almost forgot that they were there. I forgot how it felt to have that support; to have something of such great quality that fit so well.
Lately, I’ve been taking inventory of my closet– my life. One day, I came across those jeans. I looked at every fringe, each one reminding me of the moments we went through; big or small. I knew that they hadn’t fit for some time now, but I decided to try them on anyway. Sadly, they still looked wrong. They still didn’t fit. We still didn’t fit.
Part of me knows that there’s a chance that they may never fit again, but they’re just too special for me to ever let them go. Even if I find another pair, they will never be able to duplicate those same rips, fades, and frays. But no matter how far to the back of the closet those jeans go, or how deep in the drawer, I’ll always know that they’re there when I need them, and I’ll still hold out hope that one day they’ll fit again.