Life is full of adventure; songs that are sung for a moment and then fade into the night like the mist.
On nostalgic nights I think about all the people I've met. The people I've been able to hug. My life is rich with people.
My people are diverse. They are not like me. Some of them are straight laced. Some of them swear like a sailor. Some of them pray a lot and some of them don't. Some of them have disabilities. Some of them are incredibly smart. Some of them are in rehab. Some of them have never touched a substance. Some of them suffer with depression and dark days. Some of them are exceedingly kind of heart and some of them have the ability to keep me in my place.
On nostalgic nights I think about all the people I've met. The people I've been able to hug. My life is rich with people.
My people are diverse. They are not like me. Some of them are straight laced. Some of them swear like a sailor. Some of them pray a lot and some of them don't. Some of them have disabilities. Some of them are incredibly smart. Some of them are in rehab. Some of them have never touched a substance. Some of them suffer with depression and dark days. Some of them are exceedingly kind of heart and some of them have the ability to keep me in my place.
I love my people. Their stories intersect with mine.
I've struggled with the people I've loved; struggled with changing friendships in the ebbs and flows that come with time. I've struggled with good-byes that came at no choice of my own. I've cried over the ways I've hurt people and the way they've hurt me.
But I've still loved these people.
When I think of the memories still in the recesses of my mind, I'm stuck with a melancholy remembering of the incredible moments with people that I've had:
The time I trespassed near my home on the old ski hill with random groups of friends or the time I convinced a friend to walk into Spruce Grove from my old country house. Paddling out to an island with a group of friends just to say we did it. Skinny Dipping for the first time. Staring at the face of my Compassion child in Ecuador and crying as we said good-bye. Saying good-bye to friends in South Africa. Saying good-bye to friends in Germany. Saying good-bye to friends from summer camp. Saying good-bye to friends I still had to see. Painting with a friend on a lazy weekend- just to kill time. He became an artist. Visiting friends in the hospital. Visiting family in the hospital. Celebrating my cousins birthday with his friends after he'd passed on. Hugs from my Grandpa. Grad celebrations. Coffees had. Drives to the airport. Hikes taken. Watching sunsets on rooftops. Breakfast Club. Random roommate conversations. Holiday's spent with family.
High School Friends. College friends. Church Friends. Friends of friends who became my friends. Work friends. Parents. Sisters. Aunts and Uncles. Cousins.
I love my people.
Over time I've become more aware of the transient nature of friendships, the way that people come into life for a moment and then sometimes leave. And I probably struggle with this the most.
Even with the bittersweet taste this leaves in my mouth, I still love the act of this: loving in the moment, knowing that the good-byes may come in time and some may be harder than others, but that for a time there was such joy in just being with one another.
Life is a journey. With all the bumps and scars to prove it. Still, the people met along the way are worth it.
I will always think so.
