For The Homies

Short Thoughts on The Beauty of Friendships

I work in big moods. At least, even these little moods feel big. I want the words I write to convey some feeling—usually hopeful with honest pain—of what it is I am writing about. Sometimes I’ll go on an intellectual tirade, and I’ll want you to not only understand my point, but to see just what it felt like to reach that realization. But the conceit now, the feeling, the backbone that is the heart of whatever it is that I am writing, though full of a deep and simple and powerful kind of love, sadly doesn’t have a moment of epiphany. This is not a story really. There is no climax.

 I should say at the jump that yes, this newsletter more generally is kind of about the climate crisis, about the earth, and our relationships to it, this thing I’ll put simply in metaphor as our mother. But on this planet, we are human. On this planet we do terrible things. But on this planet—holy shit!—we live. On this planet, we have friends we’ve been away from, and sometimes, with time, luck, and money, we can see them again. 

Like I said. Big moods.

Watching Julia and Pixel get married, who I hadn’t seen since graduation, was yet another soothing balm, a reminder that things, at least sometimes can be pure and good. They can be beautiful. The two of them, somewhat shy, decided not to read their vows aloud, but pass them to one another like little secret notes in school before the robots were invented. See, theirs is a quiet, but truly deep love. It’s the kind of love that you see in the street waiting at a cross walk, silent, the traffic buzzing past, their faces purely content in the presence of each other. 

But Pixel and Julia gave us all something special that trip too. They gave us a reunion. I hadn’t been back to Vermont since 2018, since I moved back home to California. And I needed a reason to go back. So many people there I truly love. But as I age I find myself lacking the ability to keep in contact with all the people I love very well. But this did it. We all arrived in the dead center of Vermont, just past peek leaf-peeping season. We sat inside a quiet chapel and watched our friends get married. And we drank and danced and I maybe drank a little too much, but my antics luckily didn’t break down the whole rented tent-canopy. And we were here, seeing each other again, doing similar things, but all clearly having grown, off living our own lives in our own little parts of the world. We were all reminders to ourselves of what we were like “back then” when we met. And we could all see how much we had grown and will continue to grow. And it was beautiful. 

I already want it again, and more. I want it again with my friends from Eugene, all just as spread apart. I love those peeps, even though I haven’t spoken to some in years. And I love these friendships. They feel powerful, honest to our changing lives. I love them all. We all only have one moment to live, at least with absolute certainty. And in this life we are given the chance to meet others, to fall in love and be broken by a myriad of people who have in turn felt and done the same. None of us are innocent in these actions. But we are human, we are so importantly made aware of our humanity through those we chose to love and call our friends.

I guess you could say I’ve realized two things from that wedding. The first is that I should try and text and say hey to all those I love a little bit more. And secondly, I think this newsletter is the epiphany.