I’ve been lucky to have had a few times in my life where I felt I was with “my people”.
• I met a friend first year of high school who became the brother I never had. We practically completed each other’s sentences. Years passed, we were inseparable – each other’s “best man” at our weddings. Then, after three years of marriage, he went through an ugly divorce, had (what can only be described as) a mid-life crisis and disappeared off the radar. I never really saw him again. I miss him terribly.
• my wife (then girlfriend) and I began hanging out with this other couple in highschool and were the center of a larger group of like-minded friends. We were like a floating commune of fun for about seven years. After my wife and I were married, this other couple was engaged, but she abruptly called of the wedding. This basically caused a civil war amongst us friends and destroyed they whole thing.
• In art college, I was lucky enough to share studio space (and classes) with the most amazing group of creative, intelligent, open-minded people. But, alas, college comes to an end and (despite our best intentions) we all move on to other lives.
In all these scenarios, certain elements, for a period of time, lined-up and attuned perfectly. They’re only meant to be temporary, I suppose.
But sometimes, I miss my people.