Lost and Found

It seems so intense, this feeling of the presence and absence of friends. Yesterday I began the process of defining a new friendship, with someone who I have great familiarity. We're crossing from lovers to friends. Is that a possible transition, I don't know. Lovers is not an option anymore, friends, maybe. We're going to give it a try and see what happens.

Also yesterday, my 20 year friend Tim came for a short visit. He and I talk often on the internet, but in real life we were able to bond differently; surfing out random internet sightings, sharing our lives, enjoying each other's company. Tim and I always have things to talk about. His curiosity and openmindedness is something which I value very much. He's a member of my tribe.

And yesterday my friend/colleague returned from France; Tim and I her at a pub. She has been expatriated there and only is back with us for two weeks. I miss Laurie and am thankful we have facebook to keep in close touch. Calls to France are only 4 cents a minute, too. :) Laurie is part of my tribe.

All this friendly emotion in one day was a bit too much for me. I enjoyed it all immensely, however, at the end of the day they all dispersed and then there were none. I understand they are still there, but not with me. This morning I had a deep sense of loss. All day I lamented on their absence. Of course, it would be nice to get to a place where I was ok with visiting and then ok without them. Today the all or nothing become very clear to me. I've spent a lot of time in my house alone in the last six months and I just want to get out, and be with people. Although I'd love to have deep intimate connections with all the people I come in contact with, sometimes I just want a warm body around for some activities, conversation and laughs.

As a small child, my family was transferred every four years. So I although I bonded with kids during my time in each town, I always knew I was leaving. They would continue their lives, growing up and graduating with their friends and I would move on and make new ones. This experience probably made me quite adaptable to change, but my heart would break each time I'd go away. Written letters would cease and friends would disappear. I did not recognize that it hurt me too much as a kid, but as an adult I can see how difficult it really was for me. I think it's created almost a sense of separation anxiety: when we part, we part for good. Even though in my logical brain this is not necessarily the case, clearly my amydala has decided it's important for me to be aware of this outcome ...

I am happy to experience this intense satisfaction from seeing my friends yesterday. It reminds me I'm alive. Right now, I happen to be alive and sad, but that too will pass and the possibility of being alive and happy exists. That's refreshing ...