I know, it's been a long time.
I saw the series finale of Sex and the City tonight. For you non-fans, it aired about 3 years ago. I watched it at Anh's apartment in Bayonne, where she lived before she moved 3 miles away from me. Liana and her sister Thea were with me. Anh made quite the spread, naturally.
Anyway, what continues to amaze me about the finale is that it still makes me cry. I have heard complaints about it from critics and fans that it was not realistic - that part of what made Sex and the City a great show was that it realistically represented the reality of the single life, with all its depressing pock marks. First off, I disagree - to me, the real point of Sex was that it was the truest representation on television of female friendships. I have told the men in my life in the past that if they really want to get female friendships, they should watch Sex and the City. Yes, it's true that like the Golden Girls, the Sex and the City women represented archetypes. However, the bonds, the arguments, the differences that these women had with each other were all true. While none of us are entirely "a Charlotte" or "a Samantha," we have all shared a bond like that of Miranda and Carrie, or we have all felt irritation with a friend like Charlotte and Carrie in the "Ring a Ding Ding" episode (a personal favorite, because it's all about expectations and the meaning of friendship... and fyi, season 4 in general might be the best of Sex - "My Motherboard, Myself," "The Real Me," "A Vogue Idea" though Season 6 does have its moments: "The Catch" and "A Woman's Right to Shoes").
But this is besides the point. Why is it okay for Big, at the end of six seasons, to tell Carrie that she is the one? Because Carrie is our friend. And we all want the best for our friends, not reality. Reality is something we save for ourselves. I am the truest recipient of that knowledge. I have, for the most part, had a terrible year - I lost my mom who was my best friend. Add to that a job I hate and the usual confusion about the direction of my life. Then I thought I might be dying. No, seriously. I had this symptom, and while it could have been nothing, it could also have meant I was dying. I found out today that I'm not dying. I am just fine. But in those two months where I wondered and had tests, I listened to my friends, in varying degrees, hope for the very best - from those who insisted it was nothing like my dad was paying them to do it (thanks, Wendy) to those who were a little more retiscent. We don't think about realism for our friends, we think about what we want for them. And after six seasons of watching poor Carrie lay it all out for us, we wanted her to find her one.
And while I'm glad Carrie finally got Big to admit that she is his one and only (and even more importantly, as he told her three best friends, "You three are the loves of her life, and a guy can only hope to come in fourth.") I must admit I miss her.