The Ladies Who Lunch

We were five…a diverse group of women who, at one point, all worked for the same manufacturing firm. Every Friday, sporting an assortment of clothing embroidered with the company logo, we’d meet in the lobby at noon for the glorious tradition of Lunch Out. If we had to make it quick, lunch would be at the diner down the road (and we’d come back smelling of French fries and rancid cooking oil.) If our workloads allowed the additional time, we’d wind our way into New Paltz (a nearby college town, stupidly crowded on Fridays) and go to the pub, where our usual table awaited, and we’d also come back smelling of French fries and rancid cooking oil and, possibly, beer.

It was fun, a diversion. If we talked about work at all, it would be to gossip about our colleagues or customers. Otherwise, the conversation stayed light, if not a bit superficial. While I came back with a happy belly, and smelling of French fries, I felt hungry for a deeper connection.

Since the factory had such a toxic atmosphere, at times, I wondered if anything I said could be used against me. So with the Ladies Who Lunch, I measured out my words, adding to my sense that we merely skirted around important issues.

Still, fun is fun, and I looked forward to our Friday outings.

One by one, we left the company. Some by our own choice, some by pink slip. (Does anyone really get a pink slip of paper anymore?) Mere dislocation wouldn’t stop the Ladies Who Lunch, however. Only two of us still worked at the factory – me and a woman in the accounting department – so instead of Friday lunches, we switched to Saturdays, and met once a month at a centrally located restaurant (usually one of several Chinese buffet places, for which one of the ladies usually had a coupon.) We’d catch up, trade gossip and pictures of rapidly growing children. Two or three of the ladies even brought their children along. (I became a hero to one little girl who wanted to ride the mechanical horsey in the strip mall’s lobby. Using my MacGyver-like skills, I used a dab of lip balm on my finger to remove a stuck quarter so she could go for another gallop.) And, when the fortune cookies were cracked open and the bill paid, we’d dash off, with quick hugs and promises to meet up again soon.

But during those Saturday lunches, I had that same sense of superficiality. Maybe it was me. I mean, only two of us still worked at the company, and what was the big deal about opening up a little? Maybe my emotions at that time lay buried so deep inside me that I simply couldn’t open up and have the kind of relationship I wanted with these women...based on mutual trust and a common bond. I didn’t have that many true friends, and this part of my life was sorely lacking.

The once-a-month gatherings, as these things often do, faded to once every other month, to once every few months, to whenever we could all make it. One of the women moved to Georgia, so then we were four. Then the link seemed to falter and we stopped meeting altogether.

Until today. I’m a different person now than the last time we met. I’ve opened up my vault, so to speak, in so many ways. It’s been a rough journey. As some of you know, my life basically fell apart and then I rose, stronger and fuller and, while I still have a lot of work to do and a long journey ahead of me, I’m much more open with my emotions and honest with myself than I used to be. While I did a lot of that work in therapy and on my own, my involvement with PNN helped me to truly blossom, and stand tall and proud and beautiful and loved.

So I wondered, as I drove to meet the Ladies Who Lunch, if I could be that “real” me with them…if I could share how I was TRULY doing and feeling and not get the sense that I’d become fodder for gossip or, at the very least, simply met with blank stares.

We met in the lobby of the restaurant. We hugged. We told each other how great we all looked. (And we did look great.) Then we sat. And I paid attention. I hung back and listened. Then I took the risk. These are women I have a history with, after all. These are women I like. They’re real, and some of them have been to the dark side and back again. One of them had her and her husband’s lives essentially destroyed by a politician who used them to make a name for himself. One of them had divorced from her alcoholic spouse. One of them is separated from her husband after only a few years of marriage, and her mother has Alzheimer’s and doesn’t recognize her anymore. So it’s not like they’d never seen pain.

The result? They were amazing. They listened. They empathized. They offered shoulders to cry on, bits of non-judgmental advice, numbers to call. I felt ridiculous for not trusting them years ago; regretful for the time that had passed during which I could have had four close friends I could be myself with.

But maybe back then I wasn’t ready to let them in. Maybe I had to walk over the hot coals, so to speak, first. Break myself down and build myself up. I’m still building. But now, in addition to my beautiful, inspirational, wonderful, blissful and bountiful PNN friends, I have a few more who live closer, whom I can see face to face. I’ll never love you “guys” any less…but now my life is richer for having opened up, for having trusted, for believing that what I said, how I felt, was important. Was worth listening to. And was heard, and met with kind eyes and warm hands and compassion.

As I hold that feeling in my heart, I feel blessed four times over.

Thank you, Ladies Who Lunch, and we WILL see each other soon.