Today was the kind of gorgeous spring day that makes a person wonder why they would even consider living anywhere without distinct seasons. There are certainly days this gorgeously new and bright in Los Angeles, but without the ferocious winter, it’s harder to notice when the days suddenly get more beautiful and the flowers start doing their thing.
I went to Brooklyn Botanic Garden with a friend this afternoon, a sister-friend who’s been in my heart since we were nine years old. We met during the summer between fourth and fifth grades, and we’ve been all over the planet since then (well, she has – I have only been all over the country) and there is still so much love. And safety.
And in a month she is moving to California, back to my land, and I’m staying here on the East Coast, watching an ever accelerating friend-attrition. In a month, everyone I called “friend” when I moved to New York will be gone from here. And while I’ve made a few in the interim, many are far away, and there are, ultimately, only a couple of people left to go for walks in the garden with me.
And to be fair, in a month I won’t actually live in New York any more. I’ll be living in New Jersey, a fact that still hasn’t settled into my brain because how can I be a person who lives in New Jersey? This is not something that ever crossed my mind for serious. But so it goes. We are starting to fill boxes, and starting to daydream about summer evenings hanging out in the yard. It’s a strange moment, where I can’t wait for the future, but I’m yearning for the past and in sum, I suppose I’m in the perfect place regardless.