I am dropping more friends off tomorrow. I think this is going to be the last round of friends that leaves before me. It’s hard to believe I’ll be back home in two weeks, but here we are. I will be glad to be away from the overgrown children who live here. I will be less glad about leaving the park, and the (mostly) responsible people I call my friends.
I think often about how many people we run into whose lives we will never know. The people we drive past on our way to work will remain forever anonymous. The angry customer at work disappears after a minute or two. And most of the friends we make will eventually be gone from our lives not too long after we meet them.
It’s sad that most—let’s be real, almost all—of the friends I’ve made her will quickly be relegated to mere memories. We’ll try to keep contact for a few weeks, a month, maybe even half a year. But in the end, the friendships will die. Whether it’s because they live half a world away, or because we were friends solely because we lived in the same place, we might never know. But it will happen.
I believe I’m pretty well prepared for this. I’ve made a good number of seasonal friends in my life, and each time I leave them, it gets easier. I think this is helped by the fact that I don’t use Facebook. I can be more intentional about those I stay in contact with, and I don’t feel compelled engage in the voyeurism social media so encourages. If I want to know what’s going on in someone’s life, I contact them directly. I don’t glower at their updates without ever reaching out. I actively engage in their lives.
Adjusting to life back home will be hard no matter what. For as much as I say I hate it, I will miss the common room. For all its frustrations, I will miss my job. And for as much as I complained about the people here, I will miss their company.
That said, I’m more than ready to come home.