I have a lot of friends, a lot of people who love me. I tend to focus on those who leave me. Few things disappoint me more about myself.
It's a fatal flaw in my design.
That's what I fell asleep thinking about.
I was all set to write about it when I was scrolling through my on this day on Facebook this morning before I crawled out of bed. I found a dribble I wrote a couple of years ago. It left a tear in my eye and some perspective in my wee brain.
Then I came downstairs to write, turned on Skinny Lister radio on Apple Music.
A Dave Hause song I'd never heard before came on.
About a girl he loved. She loved Jesus. They did the things young people in love do. The Jesus people tried to make them feel like shit for it.
She was clean and easily absolved of their sins.
He was ragged and not so easily absolved.
But easy enough to dismiss.
At least that was my take.
Twenty-seven years later and Dave Hause comes into my life with songs that make me wonder whether I invented him in my head.
Between the dribble and the song I was caught off guard thinking about that little redhead I loved a lifetime ago.
I'm not sad, not like I was when she died. There's a deliciousness to this particular melancholy.
I loved in a way that few get to. Young, passionate, crazy, naive love that gets to grow up and become a real thing. And it never grows old, stale, divorced.
Anymore, when I smell jasmine, I still get that momentary gut punch but, now, it's followed by a huge fucking smile.
I dunno. TGB is up and I want waffles.
One day I will tell you the whole story about Jen.
But today I am going to leave you with this: when you find people in your life who make you feel alive - really fucking alive - hold onto them. If you get to have them for an hour or a lifetime, you can't ever regret them. Not ever. Just make sure you savor every second you get with them.
And when they go away from your life don't waste too much time being sad. Remember instead what they taught you about how to be really fucking alive.