This weekend the baby and I are going to L.A. to visit friends and I am doing that usual mad scheduling required when you go to a place where you have a lot of people you care about and want to see them all while still having a fun vacation for yourself. It will be the first time I have taken Susie Q. to L.A., so I will need to be especially mindful to pace myself.
I was thinking about the weekend this evening as we were walking back from the playground, and I was reminded of all the people who I definitely will not call: these are not people with whom I've had fallings out (falling outs?) or anything like that, but some of the more casual acquaintances that -- harsh as this sounds -- don't make the cut. We are all, of course, always editing our lives in this way, and if we are not we probably should be. It is important to put the people you really care about first. I know that sometimes circumstance or loyalty or some other factor leads us to hold on to people who are really unimportant to us. The problem is that sometimes the reverse happens as well. You form a meaningful relationship with a person, but because he or she is not a co-worker or not a part of your larger circle or not at a similar life stage (single, or married, parent, or childless or whatever the case may be), a strong bond is never formed. It is just a little thread and it breaks under the weight of moves to other cities or just daily responsibilties.
Some of my lost threads include the two guys who were my next door neighbors in Santa Monica. I will blow the theory I crafted just a paragraph ago, when I say that they were actually in a very similar stage of life: single, thirtyish at that stage in life where you have plenty of time to focuse on your career and your social life. It is a stage you don't appreciate until it is gone. At the time, I lived in a lovely aparement building that we used to call Melrose Place. It was a friendly apartment and right next door, two super down-to-earth, recent business school grads who regularly threw big parties. One Thanksgiving my friends joined their friends -- a bunch of east coast orphans -- and, wearing shorts and sunglasses, had a lovely feast on their porch overlooking the palm trees and the ocean. After I'd moved to San Francisco, we kept in touch for a while, but the thread ultimately broke. And now, while I would love to touch base with these guys and reminisce about our lovely simple life of days gone by, I am simply too tied up seeing my closer friends. I suppose this is the way it should be. It's just life. But it makes me sad.
It's telling that this conversation focuses on L.A., because while we can lose threads anywhere in the world, I think it may be more likely to happen in L.A. Newcomers to L.A. often observe how the people are superficial and gush over you without getting to know you. It can seem fake. This is a fair enough observation, except that when you live there for a while, you realize that all these gushy people are not fake so much as simply casual. They don't need to be your life long best friend forever to invite you over for dinner on a whim. When you have lived in L.A. for a while, this lightness can become quite appealing. You can make meaningful connections without forming a lifelong committment. But then you end up with all these lovely little threads, most of which will invariably break.
I should note that I am writing this and doing all this wistful reminiscing in what is still early days for me as a new mother, something I worked on becoming for years. I now have my lovely daughter, by far the most important person in my life, who truly has shown me a love like no other. Somewhat surprisingly, it is a relationship that has opened me up to all sorts of other connections, big and small. I don't want to hole up with her and focus on this love exclusively. I don't want to cut out other people who I love less. I want to celebrate life and invite all the people I have ever know in, and see all the good in them. More than ever, I want to live in the moment, see the overwhelming beauty that every day holds. Part of me wants to grasp it and hold onto it, but I know that is impossible and some of the wonderful people I have known can now only be memories.
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