When you're young you find friends based on common interests. Or what you perceive to be things in common. We dance together, we play a sports together, we like to smoke pot and listen to The Wall together.
When you're, ahem, older and a parent, you find friends through your kids.
I got lucky, and found Monica.
On paper (and when you see us in person) we don't go together. She's a very loud Polish, Russian Jew from Brooklyn. She's in pharma sales—yes, she crushes it—is superhumanly athletic, loves LoveShackFancy, and a good New York City driver
I am Jewish, but none of those other things.
But what drew me to Monica was her genuineness. Her authenticity. Her willingness to be no one but herself.
Anytime I introduce Monica to anyone I say, "This bitch told off Spike Lee." Because I am endlessly entertained by her shenanigans, and think everyone else will be too.
Long story short, Monica was sitting behind Spike Lee at a Knicks games. She is a Nets fan. Yada, yada, yada. There were some words exchanged, and Spike Lee called her a "yuppie." After which Monica loudly re-educated Mr. Lee on what it meant to be from Brooklyn. The creative ways in which she used the word fuck should be studied like Shakespeare.
But that is a second hand account.
In a moment of bravery I booked a surfing lesson. In September. On the East Coast. No one wanted to come with me. Monica was game.
First time on a board. She get's up. More than once. I was surprised, but when I did a deep think on it, it made sense.
Surfing (IMHO) is about being present, being real. You can't bravado your way up on a board. You can't fake it.
Monica never fakes it.