on remembering.

Today I went to dinner with two dear friends of ten years who have never met each other. To be honest, I was sort of dreading it. I was tired and burnt out from another week of clients, and unprepared for the social effort of introducing and connecting two people for the first time. But if there's anything I have learned from past lean seasons of loneliness, it is the importance of leaning in when seasons are full. 

So lean in I did.

We met at an Egyptian restaurant in Astoria, passing by the counter with all the fresh fish, making our way to a small back corner and into our seats. Small anxious exchanges, oh you can sit there, I'll sit here, do you prefer the left or right side? Whole fish or half? Do you like scallops? Oh, me too!

I never know what to do in these situations. How much do I need to pave the way and make it smoother? What can I say that might make two strangers feel a little more like acquaintances in the shortest period of time? I feel my own uneasiness, the knowing of two separate people so well, seeing the intricacies of their personalities gently weaving in and out of the space between them. Really, it's a lesson on my own codependence. 

I try to relax a little, reminders to myself that I do not have to be the emotional chaperone of this visit. And sure enough, they find their way, as to individually amazing people do. I learn new things about each of them, seeing them in this new environment. When you've been friends with someone for so long, you forget that we are all a little different depending on who we are with. The familiar patterns are there, but with a little more depth than before.

I call this the miracle of three.

Relationships are funny like this--that more of us can be found in greater numbers. That community enhances our connections--individually but also in tandem. We get to celebrate the meeting of the  person in this particular moment, as well as honor the history already present and well worn. 

Something new is born.

And with it, something blooms.

A path is forged in this moment, a joining of strands. It feels like a symphony. 

So although I went in weary, I left anew. A reminder that sometimes connection, though effortful, is also in essence effortless. For in communion the burden is indeed light.