The Oversharer: When friends come to town
What a visit from my childhood friends taught me about home in my 20s
“Yeah, we just sat around in a circle and cried about how much we love each other,” we texted our friends back home in Pittsburgh.
“Not surprised,” they quickly replied.
It was the last night of two of my childhood best friends’ visit to San Francisco. The tears were inevitable.
We lingered at my neighborhood wine bar, awaiting my San Francisco friends, who I was eager for them to meet.
The soft music crescendoed as crowds of people filtered in for the late night. Normally, the blaring music would make me a bit irritable, but in that moment, I felt grateful.
To see my childhood best friends, Ali and Georgia, experience a spot that became a regular for me in my early adulthood filled me with pride. I felt proud of the friendships that have lifted me up throughout my life and proud to share this new chapter with two huge pieces of home.
For the first few years, my life in California felt more like an adventure than home, a temporary stint as I chased after something. What I was chasing, I didn’t know yet.
It was a thrilling chapter coupled with fear, misguided decisions, and losing parts of myself that I thought would stick around forever. But I knew that there was something special for me out here.
After three years of lessons and novelty, I craved that feeling of home again.
I thought that maybe home was something you only found once.
For me, home was a six-hour flight away, somewhere where the leaves change and my windshield freezes over in the winter.
Home was where I drove past my elementary school on my way to grab a cup of coffee and where my best friends lived five minutes away.
Early adulthood was too fast-paced to be home. It was a sprint to discover who I would become outside of that comfort. It was my last chance to learn lessons that I “should have learned” years ago.
So when I picked Ali and Georgia up at the airport a few days earlier, I was beyond excited to share my life with them. In our four days together, nothing was off limits. My shampoo was their shampoo, my wine was their wine, my bed was their bed, and my neighborhood was their neighborhood. And of course, for just four days, my world became their world.
Suddenly, the new characters that I texted them about at 1am ET sat across the table from us. Long drives that are grueling solo felt like minutes as we filled each other in on our separate lives. Oh, and we can’t forget: apparently, my living space is much bigger than it looks in the pictures.
“Oh, that’s them!” I said as my San Francisco friends walked through the wine bar doors.
Introducing Sav, Pilar, and Kate was another proud moment of the weekend.
Of all the people in San Francisco, I had the luck of meeting them. There are people that you scan the door for in a crowded room, and they have become mine in the city.
We poured more drinks as my two worlds merged. We briefly talked about what we each do for work, how they’re liking the city, and how we all met, but after thirty minutes, I guess that became irrelevant. I looked around and saw them deep in conversation, settling into the comfort that I feel with each of them. I wasn’t even offended to be on the outskirts.
“My friends love you guys so much. But not as much as I do,” I texted my San Francisco friends as we made our way home after a few too many drinks (potentially).
“Your friends are such a beautiful extension of you Megan & getting to know them felt like instantly meeting new people I love,” Kate quickly replied.
It’s safe to say that on Ali and Georgia’s last night in San Francisco, my friends became their friends too.
I’ve always measured my life by the quality of the people in it. Sure, I’m proud to live in a city that I deem cool, and I’m proud to have a job that looks good on paper, but both of those would leave me feeling lonely if they defined me or became my entire world.
As I drove Ali and Georgia to the airport the next day, I felt proud of the people surrounding me.
“I’m so glad that we finally got to see your life out here, Meg,” Ali and Georgia said to me as their suitcases hit the pavement and tears hit my cheeks.
“And I’m so glad you came when you did,” I replied.
And it’s true, it felt like they came at the perfect time. After three years, I finally got to share my life out here with the two people who know me best in the entire world.
Kate’s assessment was right. In a lot of ways, Ali and Georgia are extensions of me and what I love. So when it comes to my life choices, I trust their judgment as much as my own.
This is because nobody knows me like the girls who stayed up until 3am prank calling boys in my childhood home’s basement.
Nobody knows me like the girls who were the stars of my middle school Facebook albums, updated with 300 digital photos after a Friday evening at the mall.
Nobody knows me like the girls who always made time for each other, even as we grew our roots in different cities.
Nobody knows me like the girls who flew across the country just to be together and talk about what makes us excited, confused, and afraid.
Nobody knows me like them, and having them here felt right.
I reluctantly sent them off and started the drive home, past my favorite In-N-Out and toward the San Francisco skyline. I thought about how for years I chased that feeling of home. Little did I know it would find me again at my local wine bar, as the people I love lost track of time. I thought about how seamlessly it all fit together.
To me, that was the greatest piece of evidence that I could find home more than once. And it finally felt like I did.
And luckily, I know that the home I found in Ali and Georgia 13 years ago will last forever, too. ❤️
Love,
Megan
there were tears in my eyes the entire time i read this post. what a beautifully written expression of female friendship ❤️