There's something about friends from childhood, friends who participated in those awkward experimental years when being silly and melodramatic were interchangeable. Friends you saw every day in school, and spent Fridays plotting your weekend adventure. Friends who celebrated the highs of young adulthood and were there to cushion the blow when life unexpectedly came crashing down. I had dinner with such a friend tonight in Paris where she moved three years ago. Post high school we traveled to different parts of the eastern seaboard, yet remained in frequent contact. For several years we even overlapped in New York City, but in the last decade careers and families pulled us in different directions. Yet on the Place Victor Hugo over a glass of wine, oysters and sea bass we reconnected as if we saw each other only last week. Such familiarity comforts me, tethers me to the past and at the same time lets me know it's okay to keep moving forward.
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