On time

It's funny the things that wake us up. 

Last week I got a sad phone call. A dear friend, a wonderful woman who I grew up with, called to say that her partner of many years had fallen very ill. It was the kind of conversation where more is communicated in tone of voice, in the gasp between words. The kind of conversation where the universe more or less bottoms out beneath you, because there is really nothing to say, nothing to do, that will make it better.

Ryan was on his way to pick me up at work and when I got off the phone it seemed that everything we said and everything we did was all at once so very trivial and so very important.  The time it took to run errands, the feel of the sun on our faces, the way we cooked our dinner -- they were all short privileges.

It has become clear to me that as I get older, there is a premium on time. Where I used to worry about how often I saw the people I loved, now I block out the days months ahead of time to ensure that the time does, indeed, exist, and not only that, but it will be honored accordingly. This can be challenging when jobs and opportunities take people elsewhere, but the value of the time itself does not diminish. There are friends that I see only once a year - or less, even - whose imprint is still indelible. My friend on the phone is one of those friends.

For S and for C: that you get well, that you find what you need, that you revel in each other.