Last night, I talked with a friend I haven’t had an opportunity to speak with since leaving the states. And, even though the phone call was initiated out of a great sadness in his life, we didn’t linger on the melancholy for long. Instead, the conversation quickly turned from somber to upbeat. It wasn’t long before we were laughing and chatting like old times, before thousands of miles and the international dateline came between us. It was good to hear a familiar voice. It was even better to hear stories from home. It gave me a sense of familiarity and connectedness I haven’t felt for a while. It reminded me of what I’ve been missing, but not in a sad way. Instead, it was reassuring, like pulling on an old, comfy sweatshirt, and relishing in its warmth for a bit. It was the verbal equivalent of a security blanket. As much as I’ve grown to appreciate the independence living out here has helped me develop, it’s nice to know I still need my friends. It’s funny how the simplest of conversations can have so much meaning. It’s good to know my friends are still out there, just waiting for me to come home.
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