An Unexpected Month, and True Friendship

What a month it has been.

What started as a couple of planned trips to the East Coast ultimately turned into nearly a month away from home in Colorado.

First, I flew to Massachusetts for Mother’s Day. Then to New Jersey for a good friend’s wedding. From there, I headed back to New York to help a friend recover from surgery. The first two trips were planned; the third was not.

With my grandparents Mother’s Day Weekend in Massachusetts (May)

I’m fortunate that my work allows me a certain degree of flexibility, so I extended the stay to help out with my friend’s surgery. What was supposed to be a quick visit became an opportunity to help where I could, watch her daughter perform in a dance recital, and spend a little extra time with people I don’t get to see nearly enough. It wasn’t how I expected the month to unfold, but I’m grateful it did.

In New York after my friend's daughter’s dance recital (June)

What I didn’t expect was how much the month would remind me of the importance of being close to the people who know your history. The people who remember every version of you. The people who knew you before you became who you are now.

With my friend Laura, a friend of over 20 years in New Jersey (May)

I moved to Colorado at 38, and it’s one of the best decisions I’ve ever made. The years I’ve spent there have brought me peace, clarity, and a sense of contentment I don’t think I could have anywhere else.

But returning to the East Coast, the place that shaped me for the first four decades of my life, always stirs something in me.

It’s the familiar chaos of it all: the diners, the accents, the food, the volume, the pace, the summer humidity, the crowded highways, the sound of people talking over one another at family gatherings, the feeling that everything is happening all at once and somehow you’re expected to keep up. The particular brand of East Coast energy that is equal parts exhausting and exhilarating. The things that are stereotypically Jersey, stereotypically New York, and deeply woven into who I am.

With my friend Lauren in New Jersey at my friend Vic’s wedding (May)

Every time I land—whether it’s Newark, LaGuardia, or Logan (all three of which I’ve passed through in the last month)—I feel it happen. My stride quickens. My senses sharpen. My guard goes up. I move faster. Think faster. Talk faster. Even my heartbeat seems to speed up. I recognize that feeling as home. And I love it.

With my friend Jamie, friends for over 20 years, in Upstate New York

Colorado feels different. Life unfolds at a slower pace. I breathe more deeply. I think more clearly. I write better. The static of the East Coast fades into the background, and I’m left with a sense of peace that feels increasingly rare and increasingly necessary.

And yet, the people here still speak a language that feels native to me.

There is a shorthand among old friends and family that can’t be replicated. A shared rhythm. We were shaped by the same culture, the same expectations, the same geography. We drank the same Kool-Aid.

New York diner (after recital). No one does food like New York does food.

I miss that. But I don’t necessarily miss what made us all this way.

So I’m learning you can love a place without wanting to live there. You can be grateful for where you came from while knowing you’ve found a better fit somewhere else. You can miss people without wanting to return to the life you all once shared.

Two things can be true at once.

At my friend Vic’s wedding, friends for 8 years - NJ wedding hall