If a friendship is inevitably fleeting, is it worth having in the first place?
Originally drafted in June, 2022.
I just said goodbye to one of my favorite people I’ve ever met while solo-traveling. I spent the past 10 days getting coffee, exploring lake towns, and practicing Spanish with this girl, and we had one of those friendships where you forget that you’ve just met the person, or that you originally embarked on your journey abroad “alone.”
I have no idea when I’m going to see this girl again, if ever. She left the Lake this morning before I woke up, and now she’s probably already made it to Antigua, or close to it. And yet, for some reason, I’m not as torn up about it as I would’ve expected to be.
We spent our final evening together last night wrapped in blankets and sipping apple cinnamon tea on the rooftop terrace of my hostel, lost in one of those conversations that you have trouble putting an end to (even as one of you repeatedly makes the point that she needs to get back to her place to prepare for her long day of traveling tomorrow…).
Our night ended with the usual promises to stay in touch — which is easier said than done, as we were both fully aware— before I finally hugged her goodbye and waved her off. Somehow, though, I didn’t feel empty or lonely. I’m bummed that she won’t be tagging along to Honduras with me, but more than that, I’m happy to have met her, and even as I stand in the bedroom of my hostel alone, I feel whole.
If I were to make a list of my 20 favorite memories of all time, at least 10 of them would probably involve people that I no longer speak to — beyond the occasional Instagram DM, that is.
If I were to make a list of the people with whom I’ve felt my deepest connections, or had my most vulnerable conversations, many of these people would fall into the same category.
I am a (semi) long-term solo-backpacker, which means that my life is a revolving door of new faces and “friends.” Every few days — or couple of weeks, if I’m lucky — I meet new people, and then suddenly, with a hurried embrace at the bus station, or a groggy wave goodbye as one of us tip-toes out of the dorm room at the crack of dawn, I say farewell to a friend I’ve just spent the past week getting to know, not sure when (or if) I’ll see her again.
Suddenly, the most significant person (or people) in my life has become another memory.
Through this lifestyle, I have met some of my favorite people, and I’ve had some of the best experiences of my life.
I’ve gone cliff-jumping, had a clock-tower photoshoot, and wandered barefoot through the streets of Split, Croatia in the pouring rain with another American girl I’d befriended in my hostel, plus a German girl we met by accident along the way.
I’ve discovered that I can, in fact, be a morning person if I’m surrounded by the right people, as I watched the sun rise over Lake Bled, Slovenia—my favorite place on Earth—two different times, with two separate groups of people.
[July 2022 edit:] Now, I sit at the sole all-vegan restaurant in León, Nicaragua, across the table from a friend I met here in this restaurant twelve days ago.
I would be long gone from León if it weren’t for this girl and our fated first encounter that drizzly Monday afternoon.
I’ve laughed with most of these new friends. I’ve gotten drunk with some of them. I’ve probably cried in front of one or two of them. And after knowing each of them only a few days — in some cases, a few hours — I’d already opened up to them in conversations that usually involve our hometowns, often involve our relationships with our families, always involve our greatest passions, and occasionally involve our deepest insecurities. In what feels like an instant, this new stranger and I have become close friends.
And after what feels like not nearly enough time, we go our separate ways.
That’s the life of a solo-traveler.
On the other hand, these connections don’t happen with just anyone. The more I’ve traveled, the more I’ve found myself willing to slip wordlessly in and out of my hostel’s communal kitchen, or curl up in my top bunk with headphones in, without making an effort to meet the travelers around me… Not because I don’t want to connect with them, but because of how desperately I crave this connection—and how deflated I feel every time that all-too-familiar small-talk conversation about how long I’ve been in town, or where that Canadian guy is going to next, fizzles out into silence, and the connections I’ve just described feel that much further out of reach.
When I first started solo-traveling, these basic get-to-know-you conversations were fascinating to me, and of course, they’re often a necessary start in becoming close with someone. But the more I have them, the more I resent hearing the opening line, “where are you from?”
In any case, when I think about Laura, Gracie, Nadine, Francisco, and Anna, and note how I rarely talk to any of these people anymore, a question hounds my mind… does the fleeting nature of these friendships make them less meaningful? When I acknowledge that I will probably be in the same position with Luca one month from now, I wonder, does this impermanence make our friendship inferior to the ones that await her back in Scotland?
Does it mean ours is not worth having?
What makes a friendship meaningful? Its length? Our commitment to texting or calling one another on a regular basis, even when months—or years—have passed since we last hugged one another or shared the same space?
Upon this reflection, here is my conclusion: if I learned something from these friends, if we shared joyful experiences or made meaningful memories, then of course they’re worth having. The impact of this friendship doesn’t have to be confined to the time we physically spend together in person… right?
And of course, if we’re both out there in the world, there’s always the possibility that we will see each other again — that we will reconnect.
Despite their brevity, I think there’s something to be said about connecting deeply with a person who grew up across an ocean—or even across the country—from you… especially when it happens within the span of only a few days.
And when I think about the friendships I’ve shared with people like Laura and Luca, I have to acknowledge just how awesome it is that I’m doing what I’m doing.
