It’s not a secret that I’m going through a slump right now. You can tell because of my whiny, self-indulgent previous post, plus the fact that I keep missing weeks of blogging which (I like to think) is unusual for me. I nearly missed this week, too; I watched as the afternoon came and went, hours smearing by in a haze of fussing kids, an overexcited puppy, a gnarly chest cold, and financial stress – so, basically, the same woes as every middle-class mom in America. I felt pitiful, and even more pitiful because of how hilariously unspecial my stressors were. It’s hard to feel motivated to do something fresh and special when you yourself feel so distinctly un-special.
Getty Images is full of well-groomed white women pulling at their hair. It’s kind of our thing.
But that’s why you have a Kim.
My Kim is the original Kim. She’s a girl who, in this age of online dating and Tumblr friendships, I’ve never actually met in person. That fact might once have made our friendship feel ‘lesser’ to me, but that word seems so out of place in relation to anything about Kim. She is in no ways lesser, except maybe in height, but we’ll forgive her that.
She’s amazing: she’s a lawyer-in-training, a whetted writer, an open spirit, an earnest soul. She’s also a bleeding heart, but the rare sort whose heart bleeds and then she does something about it – she’s never scared to back her words up with action. She’s the single greatest embodiment of #girlshelpinggirls I’ve ever met, since she likes to brag about her friends’ talents to anyone and everyone without an ounce of sheepishness or irony. She’s amazing because everything she is, she is openly, and honestly, and fiercely, and passionately.
My Kim is my constant cheerleader when she has no reason to be. We’re long-distance friends; my sour moods and blue days don’t affect her. We don’t have to share a living space, or work hours, or gym time. She could just as easily offer me platitudes and catch me when I felt better, but that’s not how she works. Instead, she’s there, sending me unsolicited Snapchats of her friends in stitches as they read my blog posts, never afraid or embarrassed to say ‘I think you’re great. You should think so, too.’ It’s always stark, and honest, and genuine, and whenever my Kim tells me that I’m worth it – whatever ‘it’ may be – I believe her.
My Kim makes me want to be a Kim. She makes me want to be better, but not the usual ‘better’ that I think of when I think of self-improvement, the kind of self-improvement that only focuses on the ‘self.’ Instead, I want to be like her. I want to go out into the world and cheerlead every girl I meet, interlace my fingers and offer a boost or open my arms and offer a squeeze. I want to read their writing, hear their music, study their art, inhale their intelligence and say ‘holy shit! You did this, and that’s amazing, and you‘re amazing!’ and mean it.
In this day in age – no, scratch that. In every day and age, every girl needs a Kim. And where there’s a void, it’s up to us to fill it. So be like Kim. Be supportive, be strong, be smart, be brave. Be unashamed to say how you feel to your friends who inspire you, and take the time out whenever you think of it to tell someone that she is loved. Don’t burn yourself up to keep others warm – Kim would never do that – but instead, draw people into your light. Bring them closer to your warm. Be like Kim.
Every girl needs a Kim.
I’d offer you mine, but frankly, I need her too much.