We met in the pouring rain, hiding under our moms' umbrellas at a track meet. We were the same age, but Lisa must have been almost a foot taller than me; at age 11, I was practically a dwarf. I can't speak for Lisa, but back then, I had a clear vision of what my life would be like in my early twenties. I would meet my future husband in high school, write a book before my 20th, get married and continue my career as a successful author. I would have life all figured out by the age of 23. As we all know, things did not go according to that plan.

Soon after we'd met, Lisa and I went to high school. We didn't see each other often, just at a few track meets each summer. The weeks and months between meetups didn't matter. Neither did the fact that we had such different interests; Lisa showed talent in the throwing events, I was more of a runner. She was more practical with her education, I lost myself in Latin and Ancient Greek. But our differences played no role in our friendship. We just clicked. From 2008 to 2014, we basically grew up together during track meets. Slowly but surely though, we started going our own way. Lisa worked her way up to college, studied in the south before moving to the east to finish her studies. I stayed in the Rotterdam area, dropped out of college to protect my mental health, built a new life at Utrecht University. The last time Lisa and I saw each other in person was in November 2017. Until she texted me out of the blue in October. "Do you want to go to the zoo?"

I was going through a rough patch when the text came. Since my grandma's passing, I often struggle with intrusive thoughts. Most of them are centered around what I haven't achieved yet, and I'm not talking about the unrealistic expectations I had at eleven. Let's face it: I'm 23, I still live with my parents, I don't have a job, I don't have a degree and I'm not in a relationship. I'm not good at my sport, I'm antisocial and my writing is mediocre at best. My life's achievements are nothing to write home about. That does get me down sometimes. From time to time I catch myself thinking: No wonder grandma never told me she loved me. I desperately needed a break from those thoughts. I accepted Lisa's invitation. Two days later, we met up for the first time in almost two years at Rotterdam Central Station.

Like so many times before, time between meetups didn't matter. We picked up where we'd left off. Degree courses, relationships, jobs, we discussed all of it briefly. I steered clear from the truly painful memories for the moment, and so did Lisa. We talked about lighter topics while tackling my fear of sharks at the aquarium, discussed the blessing to this world that is the pygmy hippo while taking pictures of one and told each other travel stories while roaming around the African section. When we'd seen every part of the zoo and every animal that showed itself, we sat down in what used to be known as the Riviera Hall. It was a nice place, a lot like a greenhouse with all its tropical plants and a pond in the middle. We set up a small picknick with water in reusable bottles and grapes. Then we put all our cards on the table.


Just three hours earlier, I hadn't been so sure whether I'd tell Lisa all that I was now about to say. To be completely honest, I was afraid to be honest with her. Of the two of us, she had always been the lucky one. The one whom all the boys liked. The pretty one, the talented one, the one I admired. Everything always seemed to come easy to her: driver's license, degrees, friends. She moved out long before I even though of looking for a place of my own. Next to her, I'd look like a complete failure... But even before we sat down in the Riviera Hall, I'd noticed that Lisa's life, no matter how great it sounded to me, wasn't perfect either. As it turned out, I didn't have life figured out by 23, and neither did Lisa. Our lives seemed so different, but we discovered that we'd gone through many of the same things: that first serious relationship that leaves you mentally scarred, mental breakdowns because you can't do everything at once, therapy sessions, the insecurities surrounding career prospects... For the longest time I'd felt so alone in all of this, but now one of my oldest friends was sitting right in front of me, admitting that she'd been there too. For the first time in years, I felt like I hadn't failed at life. I had just taken a detour, just like Lisa had.

We sat at the edge of the pond for a long time, partially because we had so much to talk about, partially because the pipes above our head made a lot of noise that we thought was the sound of a downpour pounding away at the roof the of Riviera Hall. It was cathartic to share all of my failures with someone who'd known me since my awkward preteen days. Yet it wasn't all doom and gloom, sadness and shame. No, sharing our insecurities and shortcomings made me also see how far we'd come. Lisa is a fulltime student with two degrees to her name, her own place that she pays for herself, and she's the best athlete in the throwing events that our club has. And she has a super cute cat. I, on the other hand, have no degrees, but I speak three languages fluently, Spanish badly, and I'm learning Hindi. I have a resume longer than my arm. I'm an honours student and most recently, I've learned to make peace with what I am and what I'm not. Between the two of us, Lisa and I have plenty of accomplishments to be proud of.

By the end of the day, I felt like a weight had been lifted. It was raining when we left the zoo, but the clouds that had been obscuring my thoughts for weeks had faded. As I hugged Lisa goodbye at the train station, I mentally thanked her for reminding me of all the good things life had brought us, and for showing me that I'm not the only one who is struggling. Sure, we'd expected different things from life. But that didn't happen. So here we are now. We don't have life figured out by 23. And that's okay.