Fanny Packs

Imagine my surprise when the conversation on the lake's dock turned to fanny packs.

My friends and I spent the weekend house sitting a quaint white house tucked far behind an overgrown field and overlooking a still grey lake. The water was quiet which came as a surprise being Father's Day weekend and all. We were secluded save for the infrequent jet ski humming by.

One of my favorite things about being on the lake is being able to watch the rain roll in over the horizon (unless, of course, you are out in the middle of said lake while the lightening strikes are coming down just over the trees). Even though we chased the shadow of the dock's roof with our folding chairs, magazines, and liquefied strawberry daiquiris, we could see the veil of rain creeping closer. The impending storm was somewhat welcome; it's June in Louisiana, and it's hard to enjoy the view when ever crevice of your body is sweating.

"Don't let your arms fold at the creases," my wise friend advised.

We went over the usual: trading stories about the most awkward wedding experience, idyllic descriptions of our perfect match, and lamentations over the fact things at present were so drastically different from our college years. Ever since graduation, jobs have taken me and my friends different places. Relationships took us even farther than those. Which brings us to fanny packs.

Sometimes I find myself sad that things are very different from four years ago. I've been a young adult almost longer than the time I spent in college (meaning the pretext "young" might be retiring in the near future). And just recently the dust has begun to settle on the many marriages and pregnancies that I've witnessed in the last two years or so; the historically accurate themed parties have started to become few and far between, the week night outings tend to conclude at a reasonable hour, and friends are becoming increasingly hard to reach on the weekends because of families blending.

A weekend with your four girlfriends used to not be considered such a rarity. Now it is.

So we began to think about the way that our lives are gradually moving away from one another. Not to wax too poetic, we talked about it in the only way that didn't seem to hurt so much. Maybe relationships are like items your can find in your closet, we posed. For instance, some friends are like the bedazzled Fleur-de-lis hand bags that, while are not every one's taste, you appreciate them for their sparkle and pop. Some friends are like wayfarer sunglasses: timeless, can fit in with a variety of styles and occasions. Some friends are like fanny packs: admit it -- as much as you can't stand them, they are one of the most practical, efficient, and begrudgingly valuable things out there. Not everyone wants to be seen wearing a fanny pack, nor are there only a handful of occasions in which fanny packs are needed; but you are certainly happy to have one.

At any rate, relationships, like many things in life, have there seasons and purposes. The hard thing is being able to take a hard look at your closet and see everything for it's purpose. The hard thing is being content that certain relationships entered your life, impacted you, and are transitioning into something else completely. The hard thing is having to hang certain things up in order to make room for the other things you need.

Maybe this a big reason I'm still single. There are some articles of clothing I cannot for the life of me stand to put back into the far reaches of my closet.  The mature adulthood thing doesn't exactly fit the way it fits my friends.

Ok, I know this is not a concrete analogy. Do I have any of my faux leather animal print pants I bought in the wake of a movie called Coyote Ugly? No. I hope those things found their way back into the abyss from which they sprung. Do I ever think there will be an occasion when I would need said faux leather animal print pants? Dear God, I hope not.

I'll get back to the original paradigm: I'm thankful for a closet where every thing's always there for me. Even a fanny pack.