Hosting
My friend likes to throw small dinner parties. Her M.O. is the same: we get there, and she’s still getting ready. There are appetizers on the table in the living room and drinks for all. Her congenial husband situates himself on the couch and keeps the conversation flowing while she works in the kitchen.
“Can we help?” some number of us call out. Cheerfully but invariably, she says no.
We are fine with hanging out. Things get lively. But I don’t love that she waits until we get there to start dinner, because I feel guilty not helping, plus I miss her presence. I decided to say something the next time we were alone.
That happened over the weekend, during a walk. I was choosing my words when she asked, “Do you know my favorite thing about entertaining?”
“What?”
“Being out in the kitchen and putzing around and hearing you guys laughing in the next room. That makes me so happy.”
Of course. My favorite thing these days is stepping back and watching my kids and their spouses and significant others easy and happy in each other’s company. The joy hits like a wave when you’re on the shore and not part of the swell.
I just hugged her. She didn’t need to hear my concerned friend lecture. I needed the reminder that perhaps the most satisfying way to experience happiness is to allow it a place to land.