What We Were Made to Do

Last night I sat on a chilly stoop with one of my best friends. It was too cold for moths to circle the porch light but warm enough to enjoy being outside.

As cars passed, their headlights stung through the slats in the fence line like a welder's torch. With each passing object his dutiful dog bounded into the darkness with ferocious effort.

Our conversation was one of those you find yourself revisiting at the end of a year and saying to yourself, "That mattered." When you pause to consider the current status of your life and imagine what you should do more of and what you should eliminate in the coming year, conversations like ours top the list of intentions.

We breezed through life updates then, as it goes with good friends, realized the conversation was larger than we first imagined - like when you peer into the mouth of a cave and your flashlight beam can only throw light so far. There's more, deeper, but you must find your way in slowly.

A few moments we simply sat in silence - the dog as well - and felt the evening tick one degree cooler.

After a couple hours we intuited the conversation was finished, rose to embrace and I left.

One year from now I might remember the specifics of our conversation - but probably not. I'll most likely remember an evening in November when, despite a busy schedule, I made time for a friend - but there's no guarantee. Even if I don't remember the evening itself, I still believe my life became a modicum richer because of our time together. Like a sky - dark as ink - when one star adds a new, subtle and ultimately forgettable element of meaning.

Here's what I've neglected to tell you: I did not want to go over to my friend's house.

Leading up to the drive over I was keenly aware of how busy I felt. I felt pressure to finish some things before Thanksgiving and time with him interrupted my progress. I was tired. I didn't get to exercise and felt lethargic. I wanted pizza. I wanted couch. I wanted sleep.

But the small truth I want to share with you is this:

The journey to be with those we love is always worth it.

I wish it were possible for our future selves to whisper words of encouragement to our current selves who are obsessed with present priorities and distracted from existential truth.

In the absence of teleportation devices or time machines perhaps all we can do is trust our past experiences to remind us what matters now. And I'm convinced the visit, the porch time, the breakfast date, the long walk with the dogs - is always worth it.

As I drove home last night I passed an old gas station with letters on the marquee sign announcing the addition of hamburgers to their menu. I passed an old man on the road who looked directly into my headlights as if he had been waiting there all night to tell me something.

I passed houses and intersections and cars. Everything I saw, I passed. All of it weaving behind me - a braid of spent time, experiences and memories.

I don't really know what value certain memories have over others - but I know some moments undoubtedly have more meaning, and I want more of those. I keep returning to this truth that our lives are connected whether we live like it or not; when we step away from how important we imagine our work and other priorities to be, we can rest into what we were made to do - which I believe is something like connecting with one another on cool November evenings.