I’m not the type to have a lot of acquaintances; I much prefer to have a handful of very close friends that I really invest in. I feel lucky that I survived college, the sorority, and the drama of one’s early and mid-twenties and came out with a group of girls that mean the world to me. By far the hardest part of moving to Seattle was leaving the ones in SF behind.
There’s something about doing everyday life with people that is very intimate. I have a wonderful sister and best friend in Southern California, but it’s been ten years since we did everyday life together. More like 14 with my sister, and she was 11 the last time we lived close to each other. My relationships with Lauren and Becky have evolved through the long distance, with text messages and IMs and weekend visits. We’ve had a decade to figure out how to stay close.
But with my SF girls, it still feels like I should be there, like everything needs to happen in person because that’s all we know. We have shared so many dinners after work and brunches on the weekend, and put I don’t even know how many miles on our running shoes. Somehow a text message doesn’t feel like enough when all you want is to meet someone on the corner of Chestnut and Scott and go for a long walk to work out everything that’s going on in your head.
Being in San Francisco this weekend was so good. I think I smiled the entire 30 hours I was there. The invite for Alyssa’s baby shower came at a particularly low point in December, and at first I dismissed it. I wasn’t upset at the nature of the shower per se, I just wanted to wallow in my own grief and not think about anything fun. Maybe a week later I realized – wait, there is party being thrown at which all or most of the girls would be, it will not cost me much to attend, and I can get there in two hours? Sign me up. I immediately RSVP’d and booked a flight, then looked forward to it for five weeks.
It did not disappoint. To anyone else, this was probably a relatively boring weekend. Baby Barringer was showered for a few hours and the rest of the weekend was just normal. We were in bed by ten on Saturday night and I didn’t even get dressed on Sunday in normal clothes. But we talked and we walked. (So much. I hit 17,000 steps on my FitBit.) We ate. We laughed. We didn’t cry, but that would have been fine if it had happened. It was such a great weekend.