On one hand, I thought, I have a small circle of nearest and dearest, and then the climbing number of Facebook “friends” that as of this afternoon had reached 444. That sounds high, but, believe me, it’s actually low compared to some people I know.
My oldest friend and I have known each other since I was 1 and she was nothing, as I’ve reminded her a lot. It’s rare to know each other’s history, be as close as sisters without being related, and still hold a front-row seat to each other’s defining moments over a lifetime. I start a sentence, she finishes it. Enough said.
Another friend, who I haven’t really seen in decades for more than an hour at a time was as close as you can get when I was a girl. Then, we disappointed one another, and now, all these years later, are finding our way back to common ground as the individuals we have become.
Others, like Mindy, I have only known for a few decades but our kindred spirits surely have been simpatico for much longer than that. And there are others. A friend from my single life who I rediscovered in the last year is a married mother of children, as am I. How far from our old wild days can we be, yet still, the bond that linked us then endures far beyond the restaurant where we worked. Because when you have a heart connection, neither time nor space can break it.
And then there are friends from school, from jobs in other states, and the link of family, of course … ties so strong life has no meaning without them. And the others? Strangers. Friends of friends. People from your old hometown who just ask you to be friends. Who are you again? It’s OK. I’m fine with it.
Some people insist that you don’t cross the line. I’m not one of them. My frontline friends know who they are. The rest are all friends in the making, and I don’t mind taking a chance on someone who wants to be my friend on Facebook or otherwise. My father used to say there is no stranger who can’t be made a friend. I really think he was right