For the Authentic Friend

“Honesty without kindness is brutality.” Whoever coined this phrase saved my life over and again.

Being raised by a narcissistic parent, I frequently suffered the brunt of their abuse through the facade of ‘honesty’. “Well, I’m just being honest,” she would say, as she said something wildly scathing. For many years I found ‘honesty’ to be a triggering word. It wasn’t until many years later that I realized what unsettled me was not honesty, but the misrepresentation of what honesty looked like for my whole life. What I was subjected to was brutality, not honesty.

Friends have floated in and out of my life, growing for a time and inevitably letting go. Invariably, most of us drift in and out like particulates in a stream, the movement of the water thrusting us all forward at different speeds toward our final destination; the intersection of the stream of life and the seas of death and ever onward.

Sometimes we shoot down the stream like a salmon ready to breed. Other times, we are desperately swimming to escape the claws of the grizzly. Even still, there are times where the waters are entirely calm and we either float lazily, or stagnate in the dredges. In the end, we all get to where we are headed. Who we meet along the way determines so much not about where we are going, but who we are when we arrive.

Used too, I’d mourn the loss of a friend. Losing the support was painful. Not having the connection and support to laugh and love through life was excruciating for me as a person who adores individual people. Learning that the tides do change was in fact, both brutal and crucial. It took longer for me to not resent the tide. The tide just is. The tide does what it does, as it is nature. All in all, I learned that people change; so let them. In this, I also learned not to go chasing waterfalls, because everything evaporates eventually. This is a discovery it seems I must learn over and over again.

Once in a while, you’ll meet another salmon in the stream who has rainbow colors, similar to your own. Queer, unusual, beautiful fish. These are the real ones. Rainbow fish are authentic friends. They are not ride or dies, because that’s not how friendship should work. Rather, they hold you accountable while also being your secret keeper and soft, safe place to break. They are the coves in the river beds, the respites in the long, dark night. They are also the ones who remind you to stop fucking with the bear and to move on, since it’s just as detrimental to you as it is to the bear.

Rainbow fish save us. They mirror us. They hold us. They love us.

One thing you’ll learn in traversing the waters is that rainbow fish become more and more rare. Many are eaten not long after they’re born. Some are eaten by bears, still others are poisoned. Poisoned by chemicals and corporations. Overfished and permanently scarred for capitalistic gain. Still others are convinced to hide their colors for fear of being noticed or exploited. Not many rainbow fish remain mid-way down the stream.

This is my thank you to the rainbow fish who swim alongside me. The fish who show up anytime I need. The fish who care not only for me but for my family. The fish who let me know when I am wrong, and give me the grace to correct it. The fish who love me in the sun and the fish who love me in the rains, storms, and floods. To the rainbow fish that I so love: thank you beyond words. I feel loved and safe and cherished when I am with you. When I am with you, I thrive. I only hope I return the favor.