Ode to Long-Distance Friends
The Unsung Heroes of My Life
Ever since childhood, I have been traveling. My parents and I moved around a lot when I was young. That nomadic lifestyle persisted when I grew up. And most of the places I have lived in, I found these great, authentic people who thought I deserved to be a permanent fixture in their lives.
These friends have been so committed to this friendship that even 9000 miles of separation and my telephone phobia hasn’t deterred them in the least. Even frequency of communication hasn’t matter…sometimes, we go for weeks or months without chatting..and yet, when we reconnect, it’s like no time was lost. Out of the blue, here comes a text from one telling me the newest ghost story..or from another reminiscing about the good old days..or from another discussing some complex social issue. And suddenly, I feel a little lighter, more grounded, and more connected. Maybe I’ll be alright, after all.
What I have done to deserve their loyalty, trust, or unconditional support, I will never know. But what I do know is that they are so interwoven into the fabric of my sense of self and well-being that it’s easy to overlook their significance if I am not paying attention.
Why aren’t we writing more songs, poems, stories about pure and unadulterated friendship? Why doesn’t friendship evoke the same awe that romantic love or nature does? I don’t know, but here’s my attempt to express how subtly, but powerfully, my long-distance friends influence my life.
They are like the first sip of hot coffee early in the morning.
Or the comfort of reading my favorite book curled up in my favorite chair.
Or the warm glow of my favorite lamp.
Or that solo-walk in Fall, with yellow, green, orange, and red trees all around…..and that overwhelming sense of peace.
Or the hot delicious soup, next to a warm crackling fireplace, after being out in the snow all day long.
Or that sound that rocks make when I skip them across the lake.
Or that lemonade in hot summer days.
Or the feeling of soft sand underneath my feet.
Or old pop songs that take me back to simpler and happier times.
Or that well-earned binge-watch night.
Or that warm bath right before I go to sleep.
Or the gentle sound of the wind-chimes.
Or sleeping in on weekends.
Or all the other little, but really big, happy moments that give my life meaning that I may overlook if I am not paying attention.
