I have a feeling I'll be writing a lot more now, not only because I have way too much free time now, but because the reason I started blogging has resurfaced: keeping the people I love who are far away (maybe not oceans and continents apart this time, but far enough) in the loop about my adventures. They might not be happening right now, but I know they will soon. For all of us.
In looking through my old posts, I found this gem from last summer that I never got around to publishing (I also found out that someone from Mexico has been reading my blog. So cool!), and it seems appropriate, so, here we are:
This is the stuff that binds us
[2012 note: still love this song, appropriately called "Velcro" by Bell X1]
Describing my past week in a word is actually quite simple: Wonderful. Amazing. Enlightening. Life-Changing. (In the words of Ralph Fiennes, it's one word if you say it really quickly!)
I moved back upstate to work at school, and settled in to a house with some of my closest friends. I didn't really think it was possible, but we've all gotten so much closer. Case in point--yesterday. It was reunion weekend here, which culminates in a huge party on the quad. While that was a ton of fun, that's not the point; what happens after is. Did four of us end up sobbing on our front porch at 4 AM? Of course. Did we end up venting about what bothers us most? Yes. But the thing is you can't have that type of conversation with just anyone. And you can't walk away from it feeling better about things unless you are really close. Maybe it was a little bit dramatic, but I think we all walked away knowing that we all cared about and were there for each other.
So, all in all, a very sisterhood-of-the-travelling-pants moment, really--followed by brunch and a day of vegging out watching movies.
I'm positive I had more to say, and I don't know why I stopped writing. But I can imagine. I was probably sitting at my desk in my attic room when there was a knock on my door, or maybe my wall (my next door neighbor and I had worked out a code), or maybe a text from my best friend who lived across the street, asking if I wanted to go out to dinner, or take a walk by the lake, or go get ice cream, or any of the millions of other things that may have seemed insignificant at the time but made last summer truly amazing.
But that story above still sticks out--I think it probably does for everyone who was there. I am still incredibly close with the other three people in that porch conversation--and with those who joined us for our movie marathon the day after. Over the past year, we have seen each other struggle; succeed; fall down; get back up again; get good news; get bad news; not get any news at all; heard each other's names called as we walked across a stage to receive our diplomas--our certificates of young adulthood, and our tickets to...more school, jobs, new cities, the rest of our lives. We've left that proverbial porch and all that came with it--the lakeview, the stacks in the library, the comfort of knowing that a commiserating friend, a much needed hug, a just-out-of-the-oven cookie was a text, a phone call, a short walk away.
That's the irony of this all, isn't it? Things come together and then...they're not. Does drifting count as breaking apart? What about breaking away? Moving away--or up or on? I don't think I'm really qualified to answer that; I'm not sure anyone really is. Regardless, I think there comes a point where you have experienced so much with someone (or a group of someones), so many moments like the one listed above, that time and space and distance sort of cease to matter. They're just numbers, after all. And how could numbers possibly compete with memories, emotions, words, moments of uninhibited laughter?
This, this is the stuff that binds us.
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