Yesterday I got to spend the afternoon with an old friend who’s in town from California. Old friend, like we saw Tori Amos back when she toured Little Earthquakes. A tiny theater, so close we could touch her. She hit a high note in “Silent All These Years” and blew the speaker.
This friend, we go long stretches of time without seeing each other, but we always circle back–in LA, in New Orleans, in the Berkshires, at home in Connecticut–and it’s the same, no matter how much time has passed. The older I get, the more I recognize these friendships as rare gifts. The ease of being with someone who knows you deeply over almost a lifetime.
She asks me the right questions, the ones that make me think. It’s just a matter of conversation really, but always ends up meaning more. She is a person of action, a person who says, just do it. That’s what she’s telling me after I mention grad school. She asks about my reservations. And I hear myself say the words, I don’t know if I can bet on myself.
I’ve been turning that over again and again. Of course, it’s more complicated than that. But there it is again, the echo of doubt. Important to recognize it, and tell it to pipe down.
(Post 198 of 365)