I spent my freshman year of high school in Powell, Wyoming and had a friend (we’ll call her S.) who, in hindsight, was probably my best friend. The people I considered good friends at the time all fell away, but she stuck with me, even after I moved. We wrote each other letters for years. She was a kindred spirit, and I always thought she was out of place in Powell. She called it ‘pasta’ instead of ’spaghetti’, she grew cilantro and basil in her backyard, she knew bands no one had a clue about and she was smart and artistic and edgy. She knew she didn’t belong there either, but at 15, couldn’t do a damn thing about it. So in addition to all those things, she was tortured and turned the frustration on herself. She nearly destroyed herself with drugs and an eating disorder. By the time we lost touch five or six years ago, she was on her way back up, but still violently fighting her demons.

I’ve thought about her off an on for years, wondered where she was. I always hoped she’d bloomed into a brilliant artist and lived in NYC. I finally Googled her (God bless the internet) and couldn’t find her, but discovered her dad was very accessible. He never cared for me much, but I don’t think it was personal. S. didn’t always run w/ a great crowd, and I think he saw us all lumped together as “S.’s friends from THAT time.” I was very polite and asked if he could please pass my contact info on to her. And just like that, a few hours later, I had an email in my inbox.

We’ve given each other the long and short versions of our adult lives, and I’m amazed at how much we’ve grown, in such drastically different directions, over the years. It shouldn’t surprise me, we both moved and had our own agendas and lessons to learn. She has a son and 3 degrees, and I braved the dotcom industry and moved to Austin.

I am just overwhelmed by the memories.

I seem to gloss over the details from those years, probably because they were my awkward teenage years, and who wants to dwell on those? Many of those friends were incredibly destructive, and had I not moved when I did, I surely would gone down with them in an effort to save them. Those were the years I started to cultivate my care-taker personality - they were the first people in pain that I could actually try to help. I instinctively wanted to stay sober and available, so if they fell, I could provide a shoulder. In the end, I am grateful for those experiences, and simultaneously grateful to have left when I did.

It’s good to remember these things. Where you came from, where you’re headed.

“You’re always free to change your mind and choose a different future, or a different past.”
- “Illusions, The Adventures of a Reluctant Messiah” by Richard Bach