Prior to the pandemic, our friends were mostly all, well, sorta the same. Great people with families and kids and upper middle class careers. All people who’d “made it’’ by any conventional measure. More importantly, all people who you’d consider yourself lucky to claim as friends. 14 months after the pandemic starting, the question I have now is where did they all go? Or perhaps more worryingly, where did I go?
The truth is they’re still here, texting, chatting from various parts of the country and world. But the people I find myself calling everyday, traveling to go visit (when I can), and genuinely excited to hang out with, are all new friends. All friends made ironically during the pandemic.
During this year my husband’s mother died. After the wake, we found ourselves escorting a crew of 80-year-olds to dinner at some hipster restaurant, easily raising the median age of the place to say 40. We laughed all night long while remembering and honoring my husband’s mother. We talked about life and death and everything in between. We will hang with them again this Thursday.
We also moved to an island in Maine where everyone was so excited to meet new people during lockdown that we found ourselves…
