I Turned Into a Selfish Egomaniac When My Friend Got Engaged

The other day when I came home from work, I immediately put on pajamas, washed my face, and turned my phone on silent so I could give my full attention to catching up on Game of Thrones. But just as I’d settled down and Michiel Huisman was taking his clothes off (the best part!), out of the corner of my eye I could see a bright light beckoning. So I paused at a really critical nude scene to check the bat signal. But instead of breaking news courtesy of my job, it was from my best friend with some of her own: she got engaged.

I had to pause right before what happened next… 

To quote Taylor Swift, I was “happy, free, confused, and lonely at the same time.” My emotional range within a few hour span was like one of those Buzzfeed-type lists that detail the “66 Thoughts I Had While Watching Season 5, Episode 9 Of Game Of Thrones.” Basically, I had acute onset bipolar disorder, with my emotions unpredictably undulating at a million miles per second.

Here’s how the night proceeded: When I first had to peel my butt off from the couch to retrieve my phone and tear my eyes away from Daario out of obligation, I was already mad at whomever decided to contact me, regardless of who sent the message. Then, when I saw who it actually was, my anger instantaneously cooled. Seeing just the picture of a hand with a ring on it, though, signaled suspicion (she’s totally the kind of girl that would take someone else’s ring, snap a picture, and punk her gullible nearest and dearest).

Overly supportive friend first, skeptical friend next, me in blue. She eventually sent confirmation that she wasn’t, in fact, playing a practical joke, and I responded appropriately. Ignore the bikini emoji typo.

My newly-engaged friend has been one of my best since childhood. We met when we were nine, and have grown up together. She was my roommate after we graduated from college and moved to New York City. We were every single cliché played out on screen: Carrie and Samantha before Sex and the City but after the Carrie Diaries; Rachel and Monica but without Joey; Hannah Horvath and Marnie Michaels on Girls but in Manhattan. I was there the night she made out with her now fiancé for the second time. She’s the person I rely on to put a smile on my face, the shoulder I cry on, and my secret keeper. If my reaction via text seemed insincere and underwhelming, I felt that too.

Obviously unable to reengage with one of the most confusing shows on television, I ventured out to buy champagne and flowers for the happy couple. Because I’m a New Yorker and can therefore masterfully multitask, I used the time to call my parents, then my sister, to relay the exciting message. But as I continued to talk about it, tell the story over and over, I realized that as happy as I was for her, I had started to think more about me.

There’s this scene in Friends, when Chandler’s about to propose to Monica, and Rachel and Phoebe, both single at the time, are exclaiming to each other about how happy they are. “I’m so happy and not at all jealous,” Rachel says. Phoebe agrees and then, after a sip of coffee, Rachel reconsiders: “I mean I’m probably 98 percent happy, maybe two percent jealous. And I mean what’s two percent? That’s nothing.” Cut to the next scene, it’s decreased again. Rachel admits, “That’s what makes it so easy for me to be 80 percent happy for Monica and Chandler!” This is exactly how I felt.

Empathizing with this isn’t to say I wasn’t over-the-moon excited for my friend, but it did put my own life into perspective. I’m 26 and so single that my closest relationship is with my Netflix account, which I sometimes cheat on with Amazon Prime. Sure, I’m a responsible adult with an amazing job, fabulous apartment, and credit cards (not to brag), but with a diamond ring on my friend’s finger, the bling seemed to signal that we’re now on entirely different domains. And I’m not jealous, per se; I’m still young, but she’s the first of my really close friends to take this step. It shocked me in a way I didn’t expect. I was ashamed by my selfishness, but soon learned I wasn’t the only one to get introspective.

A few days later, the soon-to-be-betrothed threw a small gathering with friends and family. Everyone was so happy for them at the beginning of the night, but after a few drinks, a few people loosened up and admitted morphing into seething green-eyed monsters as well. My shame receded with these concessions, and I began to accept that it’s normal to reassess your own priorities in relation to those you’re closest to. Everyone does it. Even TV characters.

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