Coming of Age

I take my friends for granted.

It’s not intentional. No more than forgetting to feed the cat or call my mother back is intentional. And I don’t sit around thinking, “I’m so blessed to have such great friends—I think I’ll take them for granted!”

But I do. Just as I assume I’ll wake up tomorrow. And my legs will carry me to the kitchen to make coffee. And hot water will stream out of the shower head. And my car will start. And my computer will make that funny little ding when I hit the “on” button. And Robynn will read this post.

For many years now, I’ve been a proponent of living each day as if it were the last. But doing it has proven impossible. Oh, sure—when I hear an awful story of someone dying suddenly or being paralyzed in a freak accident, I manage to stick with it for a day or two. Then I get caught up in the whirl that is my daily life and fall back into the old routine: “I’ll call her back tomorrow, or next week, or next month.”

But lately I can’t stop thinking about my girlfriends. About how lucky I am to have them in my life. And how I don’t make the time to connect with them as often as I could. They are truly my chosen “family”—the women without whom my life would be devoid of laughter and fresh perspectives and trendy accessories. I expect them to be there when I call—for smart advice and a shoulder to lean on.

I celebrated my birthday this month as I always do: with a series of girls-only dinners. Maybe all this thinking is the result of being with them all in such a short span of time. Or the fact that five of them turned 60 over the past two years. Or that the wrinkles I see in the mirror have multiplied dramatically over the last 12 months. All I know is that last night, as I settled into my seat for the train ride home from the last of this year’s birthday dinners, I got teary-eyed thinking about how much they mean to me. Is this what it means to grow up?