I am in my 30s and my friends are dwindling, while my mother is in her 50s and her weekends are filling up
This is bad. My friends are dwindling. People often say "one in, one out" when buying clothes for decluttering, but in my case, my friends are disappearing at a rate of about "one in, four out."
Starting with getting a job at 22, then marriage, the pandemic, fertility treatment, and childbirth, the number of invitations to go out for drinks has decreased with every life event.
When I was 22, I used to go out drinking every weekend, but now that I think about it, I wonder when the last time I was invited out was...?
If I had the conversational skills of someone like Sanma-san, I might be able to pick up everyone's stories like a libero and be in high demand by now.
By the way, in reality, I am short and not very good at actual volleyball either. Given my height, my position would be setter, but unfortunately, I can't be Yoshie Takeshita either.
At a company volleyball tournament, a middle-aged man I met for the first time said to me, "It's amazing how someone can look so athletic but be so bad at sports." I wish I could have responded to his very rude remark with an even sharper comeback, but all I could do was give a bitter smile and say "haha." I feel like I'm constantly slipping through life.
I have the desire to meet and talk with my friends. But it takes a lot of courage to invite people who have chosen different paths at various crossroads, such as whether to marry or not, or whether to have children or not.
When I decided to get married, a close friend told me, "We won't be able to see each other anymore." I thought she was being dramatic about just a marriage, but she really stopped contacting me.
When I was undergoing fertility treatment, a friend who had already given birth asked me, "Isn't it painful to see me? Because when I was undergoing fertility treatment, I didn't want to see people with children." I was surprised by this confession from a friend who is usually very cheerful.
During my fertility treatment, it wasn't painful at all for me to see other people's children. If anything, since I couldn't have children of my own, I found comfort in them.
But at the same time, I also harbored a somewhat gritty feeling of envy, and I desperately tried to keep that feeling hidden so no one would see it.
I think she was much more mature and kinder than me for honestly telling me back then that "it was painful to see children while undergoing fertility treatment."
Employment, marriage, childbirth, changing jobs. It's not like we're all fighting over a single pie for happiness, so why do changes in life stages sometimes separate people so much?
Since then, I underwent fertility treatment and was blessed with a child.
I thought I would go out a lot even after having a child, but in reality, it doesn't work that way. Even if I make plans and really, really want to go, that's the day they suddenly get a fever.
If I say let's meet, I might have to cancel at the last minute and cause trouble... Thinking that, I start typing "Let's meet sometime!" in a LINE message but can't press the send button.
And even when I muster the courage to press the send button, if a friend who is working hard tells me, "I'm busy with work right now," I end up worrying and wondering if they are really busy, or if maybe they just don't want to see me. I wish I could just take things literally.
In the end, the people I meet are mostly other moms who understand if plans get canceled at the last minute, or friends who have also become moms.
The number of New Year's cards I send out of habit also decreases every year. And although I dutifully send them, my heart aches a little when I don't get any back. But with the daily hustle and bustle, I'm sure I'll forget about it in a year.
However, a ray of hope appeared for me. Yes, my mother.
My mother, who has four children, was so busy with housework and work that during her child-rearing years, she had absolutely no time for drinking parties, let alone meeting up with friends.
Looking at New Year's cards, she would get all excited, saying, 'Oh! So-and-so had a baby!' or 'Look, this person is working as an editor in Tokyo!'
However, now that she is in her 50s, my mother's weekends are packed solid.
When I returned home for the birth of my child, for some reason she had started learning Chinese, and she happily reported to me, 'I told my Chinese teacher in Chinese that I'd be off today because my daughter is back home!'
It seems she started learning it because there is someone from China at her company and she thought it would be nice to be able to speak it. However, that person is fluent in Japanese, so in the end, they don't use Chinese at all and just talk to each other in Japanese about complaints regarding their children.
She also seems to have started meeting up with friends from her university days again, saying things like, 'I had lunch with a friend, so I'll stop by on my way home,' and then she'll leave a souvenir and disappear like a storm in an instant.
'Your father is always looking at his smartphone and is best friends with it, so if I'm going to hang out with someone, I'd rather it be a friend I can talk to!!' she says. Good luck, Dad.
Just the other day, she reported, 'For the first time in 30 years, I went out for a meal with someone I became friends with on a trip a long time ago! We had so much fun we stayed at Gusto for six hours—we couldn't stop talking!' It seems they had been writing to each other in New Year's cards saying they wanted to meet, and it finally came true after 30 years.
I'm a little worried about whether they caused trouble for Gusto, but if they had that much fun, then it's fine. I hope they ordered lunch and dessert, not just the drink bar. Heck, I hope they ordered dinner too.
Because of all this, my mother is so busy that even though we live in the same prefecture, we only see each other once a season. I am overwhelmed every day by my mother's overflowing vitality. Will I ever be able to be like my mother someday?
They say 'at 30, one stands firm, and at 40, one has no doubts,' so perhaps now is just a time when I am still struggling and worrying, trying desperately to stand on shaky ground.
I'm sure everyone is doing their best living their own 'now.' For the time being, I want to cherish the connections I have with my remaining friends and become the kind of person who can press the send button first.
And someday, when our respective paths cross again, let's talk for six hours at Gusto.
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