“The difference between friends and bestest friends. When you see your bestest friends that you
never see, and you feel like you see them daily and never missed a beat.
Those are the bestest friends. And I miss those friends daily!”
This woman is a sage I tell you. Statuses like those put her in the same
category as Morgan Freeman, or a Native American Grandmother, or someone else
who has wrinkles coming from the corners of her eyelids, signifying many years
of experience and motivational sayings.
Those words are 100% true. No
questions asked.
Those words are true because we all have friends like that. We all have those bestest of bestest of BFF’s
that we don’t have to speak to for over a decade, but the instant we make eye
contact with them we can laugh at inside jokes and remember the time when we
peed our pants in the middle of the aisle at Harmon’s. Yes, those are the bestest of BFF’s we all
have in our lives somewhere.
Whether they’re your little sisters who show up after three
years for lunch and want to laugh about the time you broke your glasses walking
into a locked door, or whether they’re the grandmother Ambassador from above
who gets a stomachache full of giggles remembering when she chewed you out
because she was having a panic attack about moving to Provo. Those are the laughs that we all want to
have. That we all need to have. Those are the laughs that make our lives
worth living every single day.
Pulling a red-eye road trip with my office last night we got
to talking about all of the times we have shared together. Yes, believe it or not, men sometimes get a
little sentimental when they’re awake after midnight driving blindly through
the desert. For three hours we talked. A little bit was about where we are now in
life. A little bit was about where we
are going in life. And a whole chunk of
it was about where we have all been together, reminiscing the high highs and
the low lows of the sacred brotherhood of higher education admissions. Looking out the window I almost expected
Green Day to start playing “The Time Of Your Life” from the backseat as my eyes
moistened up a little bit. But that’s a
little too poetic for me.
Road trips like those are the tales that will be rehearsed
to my Grandkids around campfires in years to come. They will be the stories I fall back on when
I’m a balding white-collar mid-life crisis staring at a TPS report on a Thursday
afternoon. When my life turns into a
monstrous redundancy with highlights showing up every other leap year, those
are the memories I’ll have stocked in my storage bin, the ones that will add a
silver lining to the smorgasbord of mediocrity which is what life is in general.
And when I turn into a hunched over wrinkle with gray hairs
coming out of my ears, I will still be able to walk up to the characters that make
up all these memories, and wrap my arms around them knowing that we are still
the bestest of friends.
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