Matthew Perry memoir on desk

Do you know when I last watched the TV show Friends?

Last Thursday. Four days ago. I watch it all the time. A year or two will go by where I don’t watch it, and then I’m back on it again. 

woman's hand with remote

The show makes me happy. There are a few things that haven’t worn well, but the good things about it are so good, I don’t care. It makes me feel like I’m twenty-six again. It reminds me that it’s okay to make mistakes and that every day is an adventure.

So it wasn’t at all strange that I was watching it while doing the elliptical on Thursday. What was strange, though, was that later that night, I looked up Charles in Charge video clips on YouTube. Charles in Charge is a 1980s show I never once watched, but I looked it up because I had the urge to see Matthew Perry as a kid on there. (Because I looked it up, YouTube is now serving me compilations of the openings to short-lived, forgotten 1980s shows.)

 

On Saturday when I logged onto Twitter, Matthew Perry was trending, and my heart sank.

Matthew Perry memoir: Friends, Lovers, and the Big Terrible Thing

Matthew Perry’s memoir was the last book I read last year.


A few pages in, I was sure that he’d actually written it, which one doesn’t expect from a celebrity memoir. The writing was very good, with some vivid metaphors. There were a few edgy lines that no ghostwriter, I thought, would’ve written.

I found out that, in fact, he had written it. His editor said he’d turned it in ahead of the deadline. Perry had a a couple of screenwriting credits, and, I learned, had frequently contributed lines to Friends, so it’s no surprise that he was a good writer.

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The memoir is about his career and his relationships (he dated several famous, beautiful women, including Julia Roberts), but more than anything else, it’s a memoir about the Big Terrible Thing: his addictions. Perry’s addictive nature pre-dated Friends, and it was a monster. Right after the show wrapped, he should’ve been living a dream life—fabulously wealthy, handsome, and beloved by all. Instead, he was a hermit in his Los Angeles mansion, having drugs delivered to him.

It was a life no one would envy, and Perry would’ve done almost anything to be rid of his addictive nature. It seemed like his anxiety and his deep-seated sense of being unloveable were so acute that unadulterated life was deeply painful. Discipline and self-control were weak weapons against such a monster. His body sustained so much damage that I was genuinely shocked, but grateful, that he was still alive.

It seems so unfair that someone who brought happiness and peace of mind to so many struggled so much to find those things in himself.

Let me tell you about the first time I watched Friends.


I was in Kansas City and working at Shoebox, a humor division of Hallmark Cards which, at the time, was like a small business in its own building, separate from the main corporation. 

Hallmark Cards headquarters in Kansas City

I was dreamy and feckless. Although I was overjoyed to have a job that paid real money, having lived under the poverty line for several years prior, I often forgot to go to a meeting that began at nine a.m. every single day; someone would have to go fetch me. Without meaning to be, I was very grunge. I wore a vintage velvet gown to work one day, and the oversized flannel shirt I’d slept in the next. 

I should cringe, but honestly? I loved the person I was back then. I feel like lately, as I shed layers of corporate conditioning, I’m becoming that person again.

The writers at Shoebox were hilarious. They had to be; it was their job. Every single day, they came in and wrote around ten, twelve, fifteen funny jokes. In conversation, sometimes I wouldn’t be able to laugh at a funny thing someone had said because I was still busy laughing at the last funny thing. 

Several of us were in our twenties or early thirties. We went to the little company gym together. We began every morning drinking coffee around a kitchen table and joking and telling stories. (This was before we went to our desks, and before I forgot about the nine a.m. meeting.) I always chose the mug that read, The world: I now own it

When Mr. Donovan and I moved from a one-bedroom apartment (haunted, but that’s a story for another time) to a slightly larger one that was so close to work, it was like a campus dorm, two of the writers helped my husband carry a sleeper sofa that weighed about a thousand pounds up three flights of un-air-conditioned stairs on a one-hundred-degree August day. That’s what good friends they were. Pivot, indeed. 

I first watched Friends at work with them. A writer named DeeAnn who was a couple of years older than me, and whose older brother was also one of the writers, told us about this new funny show and brought in a VHS tape. We all watched at lunch and agreed that yes, it was funny. The Monica character seemed to me to have been modeled after DeeAnn herself, with her sense of decorum, her crystalline beauty, and her exact ways of delivering sarcastic quips. As we watched, it may have been mentioned that I was a little like Phoebe.

This is how I watched the first two or three seasons of Friends, before I was transferred to another division of Hallmark. There was no Internet where one could talk to strangers about the show; we just talked to each other. Back then, the writers didn’t even write the jokes on computers. They hand-wrote them on 3 x 5 index cards, folded in half to make tiny greeting card mockups: the setup on the front, usually with a sketch, and the punch line on the inside.

It feels like this was three years ago. Events in the past don’t stay in the correct order in my memory. For instance, Los Angeles, which we left in the spring of 2021, is deep in the hazy past, more like a fever dream than like three years of my recent lived existence. Anyway, in my mind, the show became intertwined with a happy time in my life, and later, it wound itself around other happy eras, too.

DeeAnn died when she was in her thirties. I’m still mad about it, and I still think about her all the time.

 

waves and sunset, Malibu

Matthew Perry created the Perry House…


It was a home for sober living for addicts in recovery. It seemed to me in the memoir that in the past few years, he’d found a true sense of purpose in trying to help other people.

He went on talk shows to discuss the book and his experiences as an addict, which I’m sure helped a lot of people understand that they weren’t alone. He said that he hoped this would become part of his legacy, and of course, it has.

I wish so much that he could’ve lived a few decades in sobriety. I’m sending good wishes to his friends and family. 

When you get older, your former selves don’t go away. They’re still inside you; you can pull them out whenever you like. As writers, we can remember that sometimes a character arc is someone returning to the person they used to be. I’m thinking a lot about how I want to be that free person I was at the beginning of Friends (minus, of course, the meeting-time flakiness); the most genuine version, maybe, of myself. And I know it’s not an original thought, but I’ve been thinking about how life goes so fast, and you want to find those moments of joy—and hilarity—every day.

Did you watch Friends?


Did you love it? Hate it? What were you like in your 20s…or are you still in your 20s, or younger? Let us know in the comments!

I hope you know how wonderful and innately lovable you are. Thank you for being a friend here with me. 🙂 I appreciate you! Have a great week!

cozy living room with sofa

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