Tales of a Reborn San Franciscan

I am back in the Bay Area. After leaving five years ago and doing my minimal best to stay away, I am back for the indefinite future. (For the full story, ask me later. I may write something about it, I’m not sure yet.) With my quarter-century birthday looming ominously ahead, I am no closer to finding the true self I always thought I’d be even before this. I have done the high school thing and the college thing. I have started doing the 40-hour-a-week work thing, and currently I’m doing the unemployed-and-trying-desperately-to-find-a-job thing. The only thing I’ve done right so far (and mind you, it is not an ordinary feat) is falling in love. But this particular rant is in regards to the fact that although I am considered a full-fledged “grown-up” (and most people, Mother excluded, treat me as such), I feel as if I have a lot to learn.

This revelation has disappointed me; indeed, it has depressed me to a certain extent. Not to the point of having to take a Prozac, but to the point where I have taken the time to reevaluate what is right about life and where I want to be. Thus, here I am in the stomping grounds of my youth, reliving moments as I turn every corner in my reliable little Mazda Protégé, as homecomings usually do.

I went to a wedding recently. This was no ordinary wedding; it was the wedding of my best high school friend. The same cliché ran through my head over and over as I schmoozed with my classmates of old: The more things change, the more they stay the same. Sometimes I don’t give myself enough credit, and this may be one of those times. And my friends, although we make the same jokes and love each other the same way, are growing and changing—getting married, falling in and out of love, having children, going to graduate school, living together, moving out of the house.

So what is it that I have learned in my five and a half years in the University of the Real World? In the past five years I have lost two grandmothers, lost a boyfriend to friendship, gained a new boyfriend and soul mate, found a full-time job and quit it, lost a grandfather, and almost lost a great-aunt who was more like a grandmother. Four of my childhood friends have gotten married, with another marriage planned for next summer; one has already gotten divorced. One is pregnant; one has a five-year-old child. The facts are mind-boggling. We always thought we’d stick together and talk to each other every week like we did in high school; and yet most of us have gone on to make new friends and formulate new lives without each other. The thought is sad, but strangely none of us seemed that way. And that’s OK.

Every year I formulate a list every year on my birthday and e-mail it to my nearest and dearest. Although most people stay on that list, many are dropped and others are added. The people in our lives serve the same purposes: They are our friends, our co-workers, our acquaintances, and our family members. Throughout our lives the faces change. We get different jobs; we quit or graduate from school; we hang out at different coffee shops or clubs or social circles; we move away or others do. Even family members, through deaths and births, change.

Some people, no matter what you do or where you go, remain your closest friends. At Becca’s wedding, where I was a bridesmaid, I saw people I haven’t seen in as many as six years. And they still give me the big hug and friendly conversation they would have given me that many years ago. There are no awkward moments. We plan our nacho nights (complete with physics homework, Crayola-colored Kool-Aid and “Beverly Hills 90210”—well, maybe not the homework) and other get-togethers. We make the same jokes and plan similar paths for our lives, never forgetting where we came from and the people who helped us get to where we are. Some of my friends who recognize who I am talking about may underestimate the influence and inspiration they’ve had in my life, when the truth is when I first went away to college e-mails from these friends kept me connected to a social circle where I knew I belonged. I could call any of them up right now and know that they will not turn me away. They are the people who drove a long way to be with me for my grandmother’s funeral or sent cards, and who consoled me (through e-mail or phone calls or in person) whenever I needed it. They are the people who just knew that I needed them, and didn’t need anything back at all.

And still there are others who are the opposite; no matter how hard you try to get rid of them, every time you turn around, there they are offering the wrong words of encouragement or coffee at a place that serves smoothies (or something like that). You have to give them an A for effort, at least. All the times they’ve messed up and all the times you’ve forgiven them, they keep trying to be the best friend that you don’t need. I won’t mention any names (if you have to ask, there’s your answer), but those people make my life more colorful. I’m sure if they stopped trying I would miss them.

So if I have learned anything from the quarter-century of life that I have lived thus far, it is that the people around us are so important. As this nation suffered its worst tragedy in history, I cried for those who lost their friends, family and co-workers. I cried for my friends and family who were in the area, who had to see the carnage and destruction and felt the shake of the ground as the tragedies occurred. I cried for myself, in relief, because I was fortunate not to have lost any person I knew, for my life would have been indefinitely changed by their absence.

My soul has been enriched by every person I have encountered, all the more so by people who have made the effort to make me laugh and be my friend. To my friends past and present, I love you and cherish all the moments we have spent together.