Go Where the Love Is

A few years ago, when I was plagued with unkind women at work, I told myself that I only wanted to go where the love was.  I no longer wanted to share my life energy with those who don’t care and this guiding principle has served me well ever since.  I now go, visit, frequent, party, shop and generally commune only where the love is.

This plays out best when I am in the company of a small group of high school girlfriends.  We meet three to four times a year now and after our last visit, I realized that not only are our get-togethers immensely sacred to me, they seem to be for them, too.  I know this because although it’s difficult to schedule our visits – we are still working women, some with elderly parents, some with grandchildren, and all with grown children – every one of us opens up a space to meet.

We were close in high school – hanging out at each other’s houses, basking on sunny porches painting our nails, taking dance lessons, shopping for back-to-school clothes, walking everywhere, and falling in and out of love with astonishing regularity in each other’s presence…over and over again.  We were witnesses for each other and I still hold all their stories.  And they hold mine.  We remember grandparents, pets, prom dresses…first loves.

It was my turn to orchestrate our last time together and I selected Concord, Massachusetts, a lovely historic town close to where we grew up.  I was also hoping my friends would remember the Sunday trips we took there when we first began to drive.  It all came back to them on that beautiful early spring Saturday recently.

We broke bread in a wonderful old inn.  We ate, laughed, caught up on our news, passed around photos of recent children’s’ weddings and new grandchildren.  After, we walked through the blossoming village and ended up at The Concord Bookshop.  My friends sought out the book I  contributed to last year and then took turns photographing me holding it.  Who wants for us more than our mother’s?  Childhood friends!   We stopped in a gorgeous flower shop and talked about gardening.  We took turns trying on scarves in a colorful little boutique.  We bought gifts for grandchildren. At 7 pm, a time when women of a certain age should have long been on the road home, we sat in a coffee shop unable to break the spell of the loving companionship we were under.

I strongly believe that new friends can easily be christened old friends if they are the right sort.  But vintage friends push all our tender buttons.  We see the girls we used to be reflected in one another’s eyes.  And even though those eyes are a little bit lined now, we weave a poignant thread through past and present.  These visits fill us up.  Soul?  Check.  Inspiration?  Check.  Love?  Check, check, check.

Eventually, as we returned to our respective homes, my cell phone pinged repeatedly, text after text, until  all were accounted for, safe and sound – “I’m home!”  “Had a great time!”  “Love you girls!”

My old friends affirm that I was onto something during my last horrible weeks at that old job. Whether it’s your local tavern, a barbeque with friends, or even just your neighborhood library –  go where they really want you.  Go where the love is.

P.S.:  My favorite library is now in another town 😉