Making Friends in Bathrooms
And checkout aisles, and Zoom meetings, and . . .
“You want to make platonic soulmates with everyone you meet,” my daughter observed with mild irritation. It felt a bit like an accusation in the moment, but in the years since she issued that declaration, she too has taken up the habit of making friends everywhere she goes. One could argue she has actually been doing that since toddlerhood, befriending children in the sandbox, dancing with little girls she had never before laid eyes on at beach resorts, coaxing neighborhood kids into elaborate productions.
Making friends with strangers is one of my favorite things to do. I remember reading or hearing (sometime, somewhere, help, anyone?) that research shows that these types of connections with strangers and everyday interactions more accurately determine a person’s level of happiness than big picture events. Well, that’s comforting, given that the “big picture” of my life has been giving hot mess these days; despite the chaos, I merrily continue meeting stranger-besties in restaurant bathrooms and looking on the bright side of life.
I recently allowed a young mother’s toddler to hug me repeatedly in the Walgreens pharmacy queue (allowed, ha! I adored it), and when her two kids became fussy while waiting, I sang them a music class song where I stuck out my tongue like a frog. They were enraptured. When a mom emerges apologetically from a restaurant bathroom stall, loudly instructing her preschooler to “hurry up, people are waiting,” I can’t help but unnecessarily share that it’s ok, I’ve been there, my oldest baby is in college, but I immediately tack on, “Don’t worry, you don’t have to enjoy every minute. There is very little to enjoy about being in a public restroom with one’s child.”
This is not a self-congratulatory proclamation; I certainly don’t think of myself as some sort of socialization Robin Hood, saving lonely people with my potentially irritating, overly effusive interactions. It’s not a selfless act; I love connection and it makes me feel good. Just as I flush with contentment when a stranger compliments my outfit or strikes up a conversation, it is gratifying to make others feel seen.
As I try to untangle the impact undiagnosed neurodivergence has had on my patterns in relationships, it’s become clear that feeling connected to other people is essential to my sense of safety. When you grow up (growing up, to date= toddlerhood through age 46) believing you are innately lacking somehow, incompetent, the miss-er of every single memo ever issued, the (insistent, magnetic, urgent) need to create bonds becomes paramount. And during a season of life where independence and uncoupled-ness has permeated the undercurrent of my life, I’ve had to reassess these habits and beliefs.
The universe has unsubtly shaken me for the past 15 months until I got this most important memo—You are perfectly whole as you are. You are competent and strong. You can do this. You are enough. No, really, goddammit, I mean it. You can do this.
As my relationships and priorities have shifted and undulated while I try to find my bearings in a disorienting landscape, they reflect my evolving connection needs. Interactions with strangers, women in my workshops, audience members, and my magic-making co-conspirators have become essential. Regardless of how independent or brave or strong I am, I will always be drawn to human connection. Emotional intimacy is my actual favorite thing. Making platonic soulmates and bathroom best friends provides an integral sense of safety to my nervous system: These women have your back. They would run barefoot to help you.
I had the honor of reading a piece at the Unsent show in Denver over the weekend. (If you haven’t been to one, you simply must. What a beautiful collaborative production—readers share “unsent” letters; I mean, who hasn’t fantasized about doing that?) While I’m used to being on stage and microphones don’t make me nervous anymore, I felt out of my depth at this show. It wasn’t my production, I didn’t know what to expect, and I had no idea how much my letter would “measure up” to the other readers.
I shouldn’t have worried—the warmth and generosity of the audience felt practically utopian. I talked with women in the line for the bar, the parking lot, and the bathroom line. We gushed about shared experiences and loudly overshared intimate stories while other women inside the stalls chimed in.
For whatever reason, at this stage of my life, I am keenly tuned in to the power of women transcending circumstances, age, and location to show up for each other. Whether we are lifelong friends or merely seconds-old acquaintances seems less relevant than it used to be—we are learning that one of our superpowers is protecting and guiding each other with a magic potion of vulnerability and strength.
We cry together during Zoom meetings, let our fury spew forth knowing the women on the other side will receive it with open hearts and nodding heads. We talk about growing up Gen X, the gifts we share and the shit we are all collectively trying to shed at the same time like some sort of generational trauma zombie apocalypse.
We compliment each other’s dresses and earrings and tattoos, both generous and genuine with our words. We see each other, acknowledging a mutual agreement to eschew the invisibility our ancestors accepted when they were our age. We proudly share stories of things our daughters told us that our mothers would never have told their mothers. We clasp each other’s arms on our way out of the bathroom, not knowing whether we’ll ever see one other again, but feeling somehow both lighter and stronger.
There is something simply unstoppable about midlife women. The more time I spend talking with them, performing with and for them, and especially reading their words—ripe with power and wisdom and defiance and glory—the more gratitude and awe I feel for being able to count myself among them.
XOXO,
Steph
Amazing Things Are Happening!
Right now, my favorite thing about my work is the ability to connect with other midlife women. I am grateful for all the shared work we are doing together—please read on to see what I’ve been up to, and how we might connect!
At the HerStories Project, we teach creative writing workshops exclusively for midlife women, and in addition to showcasing essays at
Midstory Magazine, we also launched
, a publication highlighting Substack columns by and for midlife women. If you are looking for fantastic writing in a variety of areas, check out the directory, and if you are a Substack writer, join us for workshops and other opportunities to grow together!West Metro locals: Connect with me in person this Wednesday for a two-hour blissful workshop for moms, Nourish Your Creative Fire at Sunny Isle Yoga in Arvada. We’ll move, write, meditate, connect, use our voices, and bask in sound healing. Sign up at Sunny Isle Yoga
- and I launched to continue to elevate women’s voices in the creative arts, including Listen To Your Mother Boulder shows. Follow us to find opportunities to write, perform, and enjoy productions that amplify women’s voices.
Join Zoe Rogers and I as we bring you an all-female stand-up comedy show on October 25th at The Dairy Arts Center. Don’t miss Comedy Coven: An antidote to perpetual patriarchy.
Want to write with me? I am going to be launching in-person therapeutic writing circles this year. If you are interested in learning more, fill out this form—no commitment!
You can catch my most recent comedy set here, or watch a little preview below!
I'm all about the platonic bestie bonds. I was surprised at how much I missed these "weak ties" during the pandemic. LOVE to be part of/witness to your uplifting of other women's voices and experiences.
Love this so much - “ Making platonic soulmates and bathroom best friends provides an integral sense of safety to my nervous system: These women have your back.” So happy to have you as a new workshop best friend! And I’m thrilled to be part of Midstack, the virtual bathroom line we all needed.