My head has been swimming lately with all the people from my past with whom I’ve regained contact. I know it’s just a phase and once we’re all over the novelty of renewed contact we’ll go back to our day-to-day level on non-communication. That’s just the way things are and it isn’t necessarily bad.
Some of the people with whom I’ve reconnected play prominent roles in my memories. One of them stopped me from falling to my death, two more were my first friends when I moved to the states. For some I’m elated to call to memory really sweet times, for others I’m inspired to hear what they’ve been doing since we last saw each other. Still there are even more who’ve made me feel more centered and more connected with my former self, just by knowing they’re there.
I’ve come to realize something this month. The memories of some friendships are really profound and touching — they exist on a level deeper than words. I can’t blog the stories or retell them in any way as it would ruin the sweetness. Some friendships were just friendships. Not every memory has to be profound, some memories are just memories. And that’s okay.
This week I’ve been particularly touched when reconnecting with the life of the Riebens, whom we knew in Virginia. Theirs are the only blogs in which I’ve gone back and read the archives. You don’t have to know them personally to read their saga and understand what amazing people they are. I’m glad I’m getting in touch with old friends, I now have an even bigger collection of role models.