Seeking a Third

Trios, triplets, triads, threesomes—groups of three always seem better.

As a kid growing up in the middle of nowhere Alberta, friends were hard to come by. There wasn’t a whole lot of options. My school was tiny, and so the pickin’s for best friends was whoever came your way or wasn’t your cousin.

I was a part of a trio for much of my adolescence. Our little troupe of mighty musketeers seemingly well balanced and equitable. Each of us taking our turns playing house, trading warrior cat novels, and extra treats at lunch.

Our homes all broken in their own ways.

But we didn’t judge.

There’s this really annoying stereotype out there that girls can be so catty or prissy or straight up brats. But I think that’s just bad marketing.

Our little trio felt like a stable unit. Our edges all balanced so that we could lean on one another. It wasn’t perfect, at that age with so many unresolved issues bouncing around my head, I had a bit of jealously thing going on.

But I did my damndest to hold my one-third together. 

Of course, once hormones entered the picture that trio became a duo. 

It’s just how growing up and growing apart works, not everything can grow together.

Too many roots in the same pot can be suffocating.

Now as an adult, I’ve had my share of trios—threesomes for those with a sense of humour. Many short lived, our circumstances the only thing holding us together. But nonetheless, I find the memory of our fraternization still makes me happy. I often want to reach out to the missing thirds, but I know the time has been too long, we’ve all moved along.

And I think now, as someone slowly reaching my third decade of life, I have a greater respect for the liminality of relationships. 

And groups of threes.

Perhaps all these platonic threesomes were just playgrounds for getting to know the real me. Helping me put away my tantrums and shyness, letting me test out new ways of being in community. 

Coming from such a small rural place, where options on friendship were so limiting, I’m proud of the choices I now make. I’m not blinded by the love-bombing or sucked down into the spiral of gossip and cruel whispers.

But I can let go too. 

I don’t mourn the loss of the one-thirds the same way I used to. Their departure doesn’t leave me a walking mess. Sure, the sadness of the loss is still there, but I respect those who make difficult choices, even if those choices run counter to what I want.

As a former chronically lonely girl, I love my adult ability to make friends.

It was a hard skill to learn, and once I’m still practicing everyday. But I feel more complete, in a troupe of good friends.