Missing the busiest bee

How do you explain in the simplest of words that you miss someone who isn’t actually gone? How do you tell someone that you want to make time and space for them but you just can’t find the time to even talk to them?

I have a friend; let’s call him Finn. Finn and I have been friends for a few years now, and I would consider him as part of my inner circle. The only trouble is that he has a full schedule, and I have all the time in the world on my hands at the moment as I enter my maternity leave. For context, we met in our first year of university. He was the awkward country kid who bit his nails, and I was one of the older students who lingered towards the back of the class. That’s how we met. Two nervous art students with an infinite well of potential. It’s crazy to think that during university, we saw each other 3 days a week (compulsory) and then made extra time to hang out. Now, we barely message.

He fit into my world — uni, friends, music, religion, philosophy, and art. Sometimes it felt as if he were just the male version of me and I the female version of him. We thought similarly, acted similarly, and responded similarly. We were close. In fact, I even invited Finn to my wedding. He came, we danced and we laughed. He mingled with my friends, family and husband, and all was well. But when I took the time to reflect on it, I didn’t fit into all of his world. By comparison, I was a laid-back nomad with a history of taking my time. I watched as opportunities came and went, picking and choosing when I would invest my time and energy. Whereas he was on the other end of this spectrum; he was a country boy who moved to the city with big dreams, he never passed an opportunity to throw his name in the hat and always, always, always built up his craft so he could be the finest tool in the shed. I always encouraged him, supported him, and cheered him from the sidelines. But I don’t fit into his story of constant progression.

Now, in no way do I look at him and resent him for his ambition. I think it is rather admirable that he wishes to pursue his career so young in comparison to my slowed approach. Our end goal was always the same; just our journey was different. But it makes me wonder, does a career ambition mean that I lose a friend? True, relationships ebb and flow like the tide and sometimes friends come and go but this was one relationship I didn’t want to lose.

From a young age, my mother always taught me that my spirit was like a garden: you tend to it, you cherish it, you weed out what hurts your crops and you sometimes have to raze that garden to start anew. I always thought that in my garden, my friends were like flowers: marigolds and lavender—they kept pests away. But how good can a pest repellent be if it is absent? Perhaps Finn wasn’t the flower. Perhaps he was the bee. Maybe he helped tend to my garden, to fill my memories with happiness and to encourage me in my own endeavours. I had just hoped that he would stay a little longer.

Perhaps I am being far too dramatic about it all and our friendship, like the tide, will change again, giving our relationship a new season of abundance and time well spent together.

But how can one miss the tide or the bees?