I had lunch with my childhood friend Lara today. I hadn't talked to her in about fifteen years, save for a few emails in college. I had worked myself into a tizzy on the way down to the Italian restaurant halfway between our houses. Does being kindred spirits at age nine ensure you'll have anything to say over lunch at age thirty? In this case: yes. A whole heck of a lot to say over lunch at age thirty. At one point there was a chance we might actually turn thirty-one before we could finally rip ourselves away. It was far from a normal conversation, but in the best way possible. Amid regular catch-up conversation and regular grown-up conversation (I giggled when the phrase "building equity" came up; it was just so surreal to talk about long term financial planning with Lara), we essentially maintained a two-hour brainstorming session, recalling escapade after shared childhood escapade. I knew there would be things she would remember that I'd long forgotten, and vice versa. It was the conversational equivalent of reuniting one of those broken-heart best friend necklaces; all this time, she's been walking around with half of the story.
The only disappointment was that I forgot to ask the waitress to take our picture. Next time.