The Friend Who Changed My Life

We met at the bottom of a tidepool. Not metaphorically—I mean literally, about six feet beneath the glassy surface of a shallow pool just off the La Jolla coast. I was attempting to rescue a stranded sea cucumber, and she was sneaking up on me with a GoPro, narrating my heroic efforts for what I soon learned was her YouTube channel dedicated to “creatures of questionable charisma.”

“Nice technique,” she said, surfacing with a grin that looked suspiciously like trouble. “But you’re supposed to keep the cucumber upright—it’s a bit like holding a baguette.”

That was Mel. The friend who turned my hermit life upside down, taught me to stop taking things so seriously, and reminded me that, like the sea cucumber, I was allowed to take up space in my own weird, lopsided way.

Here’s to the friend who changed my life.

She Arrived Like a Hurricane (with Snacks)

Mel was the human equivalent of a Red Bull—unpredictable, buzzing with energy, and occasionally leaving you slightly frazzled but glad to be alive. She was new to La Jolla, having blown in from Portland with a bicycle, two surfboards, and an unrelenting curiosity about the world.

We bonded over surf lessons that quickly became more about rolling in the waves laughing than actually catching anything. (“Balance is overrated,” she deadpanned, right before toppling off her board for the fifth time that day.) It didn’t take long before Mel started appearing in every corner of my life: morning coffee runs, impromptu karaoke nights, midweek hikes where she’d insist the best snacks were “whatever crumbs we find in the backseat of the car.”

At first, I wasn’t sure what to do with her boundless energy. I’d spent my twenties perfectly happy in my little routines—early-morning tidepool walks, evenings scribbling away in a journal, weekends reading essays about coastal erosion (yes, I know how nerdy this sounds). But Mel had this way of busting into your life that made you want to be just a little more reckless, say yes to plans without overthinking them, and buy that questionable kombucha flavor everyone’s been warning you about.

Looking back, I realize Mel wasn’t just introducing me to new experiences—she was teaching me to let people in and embrace life’s chaotic, unfiltered edges.

The Dating Catastrophe That Taught Me Resilience

But the moment Mel’s impact really hit me? It wasn’t while surfing or hunting for tacos in the middle of nowhere—it was when she rescued me from the Great Pancake Debacle.

Let me set the scene: I was deep into a relationship with this guy who appeared, at first glance, to be dream-boy material. He was worldly, witty, and inexplicably good at parallel parking. But somewhere along the line, the cracks began to show. He had a gift for subtly dismissing things I cared about (“Do people actually read about tidepools?”), and I started feeling like I needed to shrink myself around him.

Then came breakfast. He invited me over for pancakes but, inexplicably, used salt instead of sugar in the batter. A minor mishap, sure, but when I laughed and suggested a backup plan (bagels, anyone?), he told me I was “too high-maintenance.”

When I texted Mel about the pancake meltdown, she showed up at my apartment fifteen minutes later with 1) a bag of real maple syrup, 2) fresh croissants, and 3) the declaration that, “This man deserves to be ghosted—and not the sexy, Patrick Swayze kind.”

Over croissants and coffee, we talked about how I’d gotten so caught up in trying to meet someone else’s expectations that I forgot my own self-worth.

“You’re like a tidepool,” Mel told me, ever on brand. “Looming big under the right light, and anyone who doesn’t see the magic isn’t looking hard enough.”

It sounded like Phoebe Buffay wisdom at the time, but in hindsight? She was absolutely right.

Lessons from a Reluctant Adventurer

Here’s the thing about friends like Mel: They don’t just nudge you toward growth—they catapult you straight into the deep end, whether you’re ready or not (spoiler: you’re almost never ready). Every adventure we shared came with lessons I didn’t realize I needed.

  • Say Yes More Often. Whether it was kayaking under the stars or taking spontaneous road trips to places only Google Maps had heard of, Mel taught me there’s beauty in saying “Why not?” instead of “What if it goes wrong?” Spoiler: Sometimes it did go wrong. But more often, it didn’t.

  • Embrace the Bad Days. Mel had a way of normalizing failure that felt revolutionary at the time. She didn’t brush it off or try to spin it with toxic positivity—she’d acknowledge the hard parts before launching into an elaborate plan to cheer you up. (One particular low point led to her re-enacting The Little Mermaid with sock puppets. It wasn’t good, but it was spectacular).

  • Share the Weird Stuff. She was always the first person I wanted to call about my most random observations—like the time I saw a crab carrying a Dorito on the beach. Mel made you feel safe sharing the quirky, silly parts of yourself without fear of judgment.

Thank You, Mel

Years have passed since Mel biked into my life, and while she’s now living in Bali chasing tangerine sunsets and, inevitably, befriending every human within a 10-mile radius, I still carry her spirit with me. Whenever I’m tempted to fall back into old self-doubts or second-guess my choices, I think back to her tidepool analogy—that I am both enough and astonishing, just as I am.

If you’re lucky enough to have a friend like Mel—someone who can teach you to laugh harder, live brighter, and love yourself a little more fiercely—hold onto them. Celebrate them. And maybe, just maybe, remind them to grab snacks for the next impromptu adventure.

Because in the end, life’s too short for bad pancakes and people who don’t believe in your magic. And if you haven’t found your Mel yet—don’t worry. Sometimes, the best friends find you.