By Pam “Gates” Johnson
You have to be a friend to make a friend. As I get older, I’m realizing how true that old saw is. It was a lesson that took a long time to learn.
So here we go into the way-back machine. When I first came to Vashon, the only person I knew was my new husband. He had co-workers at the school bus garage where he worked, but they were all considerably older than me. I met some neighbors, but not having a job, that was about it. There was nobody to hang around with or share common interests. Boring.
The kids came along a few years later. I met other parents, but we didn’t socialize. Kids joined 4H and got into sports, so I met other parents in that same boat. Got a job. Got co-workers. But most other parents were busy with their own lives, just like me, so we didn’t hang out.
Life went on. I retired. If I needed help with something, I hired it done. I drove myself wherever I needed to go. My kids had their own lives. My best friend from high school lived in Portland, not an easy drive down the I5 corridor. My sisters were not around. As for most of my life, I was on my own. Then I rejoined the athletic club.
I’d gone to the club a few times for their water walking/senior aerobics classes. Even joined, but never went. But upon retiring, I needed something to get me moving and out of the house, so I joined back up. And a funny thing happened. I finally found a group where I fit in.
The class usually has anywhere from 10 to 20 participants. I knew the instructor because I worked with and was a friend of her daughter. There were people retired from the school district where I had worked for years. There were people from the horse community. There were names I had heard about in the arts community. And there were total strangers.
I’ve never been very outgoing. My go-to persona was the sharp-witted snark who would casually throw a controversial opinion into a conversation. That had served me well over the years, but was getting a little tiresome. I began to speak up more. Surprise! People seemed to be kind of interested in what I had to say. Around these folks, it was safe to voice my opinion.
Part of the pool class is walking laps around the pool for 20 minutes or so. While walking, we form little groups of two or three people and talk. And talk. And talk. Subjects range from what’s good on Netflix, gardening, travel plans, aches and pains, our kids, cooking, and occasionally politics. Not only are we all moving, but wonderful friendships are forming.
After class, we often sit in the hot tub and go over the latest Vashon gossip. Why was there a power outage in Burton last night? Did you hear about the new school superintendent? Those darned tourists don’t know how to navigate a four-way stop. Why doesn’t the festival have a carnival any longer? Is there ever going to be a Chinese restaurant on Vashon again? Oh, I have an eye appointment next Tuesday, can somebody drive me?
During these conversations, I began to realize how important friends are at this point in our lives. As we age, the aches and pains involve trips to the doctor. Sometimes we need someone to drive us, or just hold our hand. I have and will drive my pool pals to eye doctors, cardiologists, MRIs, pre- and post-surgery appointments, and anywhere else if they need me. And they will do the same for me.
If I don’t feel well, my friends call to check up on me and bring chicken soup. If I am sad, they call or come over. We get together to decorate holiday cookies. We have lunch. We share goofy emails. We go out for ice cream cones, then sit at the beach and talk.
All these small interactions have merged into my pool pal community. I can count on any one of them to be there if I need them. It’s great to not have to bug my kids for every little ride I need, to listen to my stories over and over, to help me plant a petunia. My friends are there for me and I for them.
It seems that many aging people find their circle of friends diminishing. It is too easy to sit at home with YouTube and Netflix and let the world pass you by. I am not ready to sit alone and wait to die; my friends won’t allow that. There are books to be written and read. There are things I need to teach my grandkids. There are hugs and I love yous to be given. There are places to go, things to do, and people to see. There is too much living yet to do.
