We miss our friends while making remarkably little room to see them. The affection is sincere. So is the exhaustion. We suggest dinner, compare schedules, and settle on an evening several weeks away. In the meantime, we send something funny. It means, among other things, that we are still here.
There is tenderness in knowing exactly what will make someone laugh. But we want to hear the laugh.
Sometimes we postpone seeing people because we want something better to report. We would like to have resolved the situation we discussed last time. It is embarrassing to remain confused about the same person, discouraged by the same job, uncertain about the same ambition.
A good friend is often willing to hear the unfinished account. There is relief in discovering that someone is glad to see us even though very little has improved. Eventually, we begin talking about their life, and our own troubles occupy a more reasonable portion of the evening.
We are still learning to make room for this. We can arrive tired, without an interesting update. We can spend an evening together that neither of us would think to photograph.
The next morning, the same difficulties may remain. But when something happens, there will be someone we have only just seen whom we already want to tell.
