On a Tuesday because I was at a concert last night. But. Nothing to see here.
Suitcase wheels whir and grate as I haul the rollaboard along behind me, running for the train. Two minutes to departure. And I still have to make it up a level, over the bridge and down an escalator to platform 15A. A lyric pops into my head as my feet beat against the white polished concrete floor of the bus terminal.
And friends are friends forever.
Conversations play out in my head, both real, and imaginary. Constantly. Mostly, I let them create scenes of their own accord and don’t pay much attention. But as I run, I replay the discussions I had over the weekend. I’ve been in Newcastle and Sydney for four and a half days, and due to my recent engagement, most of my talks with friends have centred around relationships, dating and marriage.
A question I used to ask prospective dates, I said to the friend I grew up across the street from in high school, was “How many close friends do you have, and how long have you known them?”
The answer was often indicative of how well a person could create and maintain relational bonds and boundaries. How well they could manage a relationship over time and all the challenges that came with it. How good a friend they could be. No close friends was always a worry. Short-lived friendships were a worry. But not making new friends was a worry, too.
Of the people I connected with this weekend, the range of time for which I’ve known them is between eight and twenty-eight years (or my entire life, if you count my parents). Long-term friendships require work from both parties; they need trust, respect, vulnerability, kindness and love to flourish. And I’ve always found that if you can be a good friend, you can be a good partner. But most of us don’t consider what makes us a good friend, nor what makes a good friend to us in return.
Although I don’t resonate with all of this song anymore in the same way I used to, it’s the one that popped into my head as I ran and the message is still meaningful.
A lifetime’s not too long to live as friends.
And I’m exceedingly grateful for mine.
The words are lost inside me.
Stuck behind the lump in my throat.
Self-prescribing, I’m imbibing.
I have to let it go.
The rolling darkness echoes with hopes crashed on the shore.
Will it ever, can it ever be the way it was before?
Can’t a girl just do the best she can?
Catch a wave and take in the sweetness
Think about it, the darkness, the deepness
All the things that make me who I am
And who I am is a big time believer
That people can change
~ Elizabeth Grant and Jack Antonoff ~
G and I are back after five weeks travelling in North America. It’s good to be home. Luckily, no matter where in the world we go, as long as we’re together we are home.
Ah, home, let me go home
Home is wherever I’m with you
Ah, home, let me go home
Home is where I’m alone with you
We are just into our fourth week of travelling with one more to go. It feels both long, and short. I miss friends at home, and those living in places I’ve already been. But I can’t be multiple places at once.
Or maybe I can.
Today we were here, though. A little park in Montreal across the road from Leonard Cohen’s former residence. I loved Leonard Cohen but I don’t grieve for him. I don’t need to. Because he already knew what life was about.
Don’t dwell on what
Has passed away
Or what is yet to be
There is a crack, a crack in everything That’s how the light gets in
I’m in California with G for a friend’s wedding today. We have been busy travelling so I have missed a few Music Mondays (I keep forgetting what day it is in Australia) but I remembered today! I will try to get back on track when I get home in a few weeks.
In 1999, I thought I knew what this song meant. But I didn’t really.
Fifteen years later, I understood.
“All the fear has left me now, I’m not frightened anymore.”
Today is zombie day; the 24hour period between night shift and day shift. It’s only 8.18pm but it is bedtime.
This afternoon I went out for coffee with Crystal and she talked about feelings (sad). And nothings (every other feeling). I wonder what she’d think about “sad music”?