Only a phase, these dark cafe days.

It was a weekend of reunions. Met up with an old high school buddy on Friday night (who I probably hadn’t seen since high school), and then spent part of the day Saturday with one of my oldest and dearest friends. And when I say oldest, I mean that we were so young when we met that we don’t even remember meeting. We grew up together in the truest sense of the phrase. Our mothers were always together, and therefore so were we—side by side for every milestone. Every event. Every threshold crossed was crossed, if not exactly together, then within arms reach of each other.

So over the course of two days, lots of stories were told. Lots of questions asked. The answers given were sometimes predictable and sometimes unexpected. People change and evolve in unpredictable ways, it seems. When reconnecting, I’m initially struck by the ways my friends have changed. But what leaves a lasting impression is always how much they've stayed the same. The truest friends are always so effortless to reconnect with—no matter how much time has passed since that last connection.

For me, reunions are a mixed bag. I wouldn’t trade them for anything—they’re fun, fascinating, heartwarming, and above all, they force us to check in with ourselves and help to keep us honest. In the catching up and effortless flow of conversation, often things we’ve forgotten about ourselves or our lives are re-found. And that’s amazing. But sometimes, the act of finding and re-finding has the unintended (short-term) consequence of making me feel a little lost.