I hadn’t seen some of these women for ages, but I decided to book the last-minute flight from Minneapolis to Seattle. The decades in-between had filled with client meetings, school events, and jam-packed schedules that eclipsed our in-person social gatherings. We connected on social media, sure, but that wasn’t the same. This time I would show up.
The purpose of my spontaneous travel was not a wedding, a funeral, or a major event for one of my friend’s kids. Twelve of us—friends from college—would gather to play Bunco, a game I had never played before, with a few of us spending the night together as we did long ago in a sorority dorm.
At first, I hesitated. It seemed excessive, but Cindy, the Bunco host, and my college buddy, persuaded me. “Susan is coming from Idaho. Gillian is taking a ferry from Poulsbo. It wouldn’t be right without you.”
I created an opening in my schedule. Isn’t that what we do when something becomes a priority? We make time. I would dip into my mileage account to fly out Thursday afternoon and leave on Friday morning. The entire visit would be twenty hours between flights.
I called Cindy when the wheels hit the runway in Seattle. “You’re here!” she exclaimed. “We’ll drive around and get you. Look for us in the SUV with Susan hanging out the sunroof.”
When I hopped in the car, the three of us instantly sparked with the same conversational energy as our twenty-year-old selves. Our topics, however, were remarkably different. We noted that our kids, now college students, were older than we were when we first met. How did that happen? We blinked, and the years marched forward.
At Cindy’s house, we hit the kitchen right away, laughing and catching up, while we set out serving platters, arranged cheese and crackers, and calculated the right time to cut the fruit. The collective knowledge of friends who had hosted decades of meals felt impressive. Susan with her signature Blue Cheese Confetti Dip; Gillian fanning the napkins, caterer-style. Gone were the days of ripping open a bag of cheddar-orange, ruffled chips in a dorm lounge.
Gillian challenged our brains to recall a fraternity guy we knew long ago. She recently ran into him at her son’s fraternity. Full circle moment.
“Remember him?” Gillian asked.
“Nope.” It’s impossible to hold memories of all the people who have come and gone. “Wait… blonde, and a mustache? That guy who looked like Jeff Foxworthy?”
“Yes!” It felt victorious to retrieve his image. She showed us a picture of the forgotten fellow, red Solo cup in hand.
“He held that same red Solo cup thirty years ago!” We laughed in syncopation.
The doorbell rang, and more friends spilled into Cindy’s living room. Familiar, beautiful rosy-cheeked faces (less full), and eyes layered with wisdom. Most of these faces have populated my Instagram feed, but staying in touch with an upward thumb doesn’t equal a welcome hug. And despite the years gone by, I felt like we were just the same.
Last minute, Lisa called to say she couldn’t make it. Her mom fell after her recent hip replacement. At this point in life, we talk a lot about our parents’ hips. In another blink, will our children worry about the density of our bones?
At the end of the night, we gathered on the couch and assigned Cindy’s husband a requisite task—a picture. Well, many. The right height (no double chins), the right light, and our best smiles. He’s a patient guy. After elongated goodbyes, the party was over.
At the airport the next day, I posted that picture (of course). When the image popped into feeds, thumbs and hearts appeared. Had I not been there, I would have liked a similar shot without me, commented Wish I could have been there, and carried on with after-the-fact FOMO.
What a difference between digital and face-to-face friendship. Flying 1,500 miles for twenty hours is certainly extravagant, but the whirlwind trip did my heart good—inspiring me to seize less-extreme ways to show up more. We can’t keep telling ourselves we will always have tomorrow. The time to show up for friends is now.
Jennifer Cramer-Miller is an author and speaker, focusing on stories of hope, and her award-winning memoir, Incurable Optimist: Living with Illness and Chronic Hope received a Publishers Weekly starred review “… a knockout memoir… ” Join her newsletter community here and visit her website at JenniferCramerMiller.com. You’ll find her other essays featured in HuffPost, Zibby Mag, Brevity Blog, The Sunlight Press, Next Avenue, Grown & Flown, The Erma Bombeck Blog, Star Tribune, Minnesota Physician, Mamalode, and Medium.
