Whining, Wine-ing & Winning

The hardest part about moving wasn’t the boxes or learning a new city. It was realizing how quiet life had become.

Nobody really talks about that part. They talk about fresh starts and new adventures, but nobody mentions the grief that comes with leaving behind people who were woven into your everyday life. There were no dramatic fights. No huge falling out. Just fewer texts, longer gaps, and one day realizing you miss people who are still very much alive. That’s a strange kind of sadness. One that doesn’t come with shots or sympathy cards. You just carry it around and smile when an old picture pops up on Facebook or a memory catches you off guard.

Lately, I think that weight has caught up with me. After enough distance and enough changes, every silence starts feeling personal. You wonder if you should have called more, texted more, or tried harder. You start asking yourself if maybe you were easier to forget than you thought. Not angry. Not bitter. Just tired. Tired of feeling like friendships are auditions and wondering if you said too much.

Then I remember something else. Some people can go months or even years without talking and somehow pick right back up where they left off. Some friendships survive moves, marriages, kids, jobs, and all the ordinary messes of life. Maybe that’s what friendship looks like after 40. Not necessarily talking every day, but knowing that no matter how much time has passed, there are people who still feel like home.

Maybe I’m just missing my people. Maybe loneliness isn’t proof that I’m unwanted. And maybe that’s okay. After all, if life has taught me anything, it’s that true friends don’t always disappear. Sometimes they’re just living their own stories for a while…somewhere down the road, when life finally slows down and your paths cross again, you realize what Woody knew all along. You’ve got a friend in me.