Seventeen friendships years apart

“The Blue House” by Tomas Tranströmer

I had the chance to get dinner with an old friend today. We haven’t been out together in a long time, and I got to show her a bunch of my current haunts. It felt a bit like getting to know each other again — we’ve both changed so much, but in good ways.

With many of my old friends, I feel like we are all so different that the memories of fun times are overshadowed by a lack of connection. We’ve lost something essential for friendship. We reminisce with no promise of future memories. Sometimes this makes me sad, but often it feels fine — final, even.

That wasn’t the case with this friend, who I anticipate having around for the rest of my life. But “The Blue House” resonated with me in its descriptions of past memories and present desires. I love the line:

“I am grateful for this life! And yet I miss the alternatives.

All sketches wish to be real.”

I have a problem with indecision that is echoed in this poem. All crossroads seem early to me.