I’m going to take an entire post here to love on my friend-clan, my tribe, my framily. That’s right, I used that terrible word. I have been friends with this group of people since high school- as best as I can recall, a bunch of us ended up at Catholic youth group together every Sunday, and the rest is history. A history full of:
*sneaking into parks,
*making out in a shared hotel room,
*late night ruminations on philosophy,
*injury-filled ski trips and Frisbee games,
*garbage cans full of hunch punch,
*a whole lotta Weezer,
*stories that never get old,
*sacred matrimonial bonds,
*picking right back up where you left off,
*a shopping cart full of beer cans,
*loitering on any and all sidewalks,
*laughing until you cry.
By my count, there were just about 20 of us reunited last week in the Pacific Northwest, as far from our home state of Florida as you can get. We were all met, there in one place, for the wedding of one of our gang. She and her husband being nature, their wedding took place at this fantastic summer camp two hours outside of Portland, OR. Think adults in bunk beds summer camp. Hilarity ensues...
If you have a group of people who know each other this intimately in your life, treasure them. Because even when it’s different, it will always be the same. When you are carrying the child your girlfriend made around on your back, and your other friend who made a baby is retelling his sage about falling into a rosebush, and you’re hiking up the beach and your legs are killing you, but you are smiling because you are so happy for your friends, all of them, even the ones who are in a weird place in their lives right now, and you are so happy that you have gotten to be their friends for 15 years- well, that was a total runon sentence, but that’s exactly how it feels. Like one big runon of past and present all mashed together. They make you mad and they make you smile, and you think your best friend is going to drive you absolutely bonkers when she pretends like she knows how to steer a canoe, only to reveal her deception once you have started paddling out, and you boss each other around on the water like old biddies-- but you never really mean it when you threaten to tip the boat.
The grand irony is that we had to travel across the country in order to reunite. Or maybe it makes perfect sense that way- when something really counts, when it’s more than day to day living, we show up for each other. We bring along all of our annoying habits and our amazing traits, a bunch of completely ridiculous goofballs who, in the end, just really like being around one another.
It’s more than enough for me.