Today you sent what must have been a class picture of me in the tenth grade. I am young and frizzy and just a little bit ridiculous. But I am also smiling and I look comfortable, peaceful, and present. I look at that person and I know it is me and yet she feels so much like a stranger. So much has changed since I was fifteen. I am a different version of that human. Version 3.6? (SOOO funny!)!
I had a moment today where I dreamed of calling and asking if I could hop on a plane and stay for a little bit. I'd like to come and sit on an enormous, sink-y arm chair and drink good coffee. I'd like to cook together. And at night, I'd like to wrap myself up in the familiarity of your voice and persona and the comfort of your words. I want to know everything you know, understand everything you've gone through, and soak up your wisdom. I am thirsty to relish every story you can tell me about your past (my past). What a marvel it is that you are mine and I am yours and we have come to know one another in this life. What a wonder to have even one human on the planet cheer and celebrate and guide me in the way you do. You are my soft place to land; just knowing you exist gives me courage and strength and fortitude to do the right thing (even when it feels insurmountably hard).
It is a wonder, isn't it, to have other people who feel like home? To have a half dozen homes all over the country with a half dozen beautiful people who can make this madly spinning planet still, even for just the duration of a cup of coffee?
Tonight is missing you. And awaiting an enormous storm that has our entire region abuzz with anticipation. And sitting, just a little, in this nostalgia and melancholy. Both for the young girl in that image and for the geographic distance between myself and so many people who hold just enough of my heart that there is a tiny bit of missing in each exhale.
I will always have my arms and that armchair ready for you
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