I went on a date a few weeks ago. Let me replay the evening for you.
I wake up with a giddy flutter in my chest, like a hummingbird sipping nectar from the sweetest flower. Amidst work meetings, I wonder what the evening—our evening—entails. What will we talk about? What will we do?
I imagine the two of us: eyes locked, a slow smile, throwing my head back and laughing in bliss. When the hour arrives, I slip into my outfit and spritz perfume on my neck, the scent reminding me of cozy sheets in a candlelit room. Then, I hurry out the door.
Nerves prickle in my underarms during the drive to our meeting place. My phone lights up with a text message: "Sorry! Running behind. Be there in 10 minutes." I wipe tiny beads of sweat from my upper lip, relieved to have a moment alone to compose myself.
I arrive at an intimate bookstore bar, where you can indulge in the newest contemporary literature while nursing an Old Fashioned. Happy Hour draws to a close, so I quickly order a pair of passionfruit cocktails for us both, taking a sip to quell my jitters.
Finally, my date, Jackie, arrives, radiating the same sparky warmth she had when we first met eleven years ago.
2012: The Meet Cute
I met Jackie when we moved into our shared dorm room at UC Berkeley. We became fast friends over our adoration for books (especially Harry Potter). Being fellow Ravenclaws, we lay in our respective loft beds, talking to each other from across our room about our crushes and existentialism. In the words of writer Ann Patchett, “We shared ideas like sweaters, with easy exchange and lack of ownership.”
I found myself developing a platonic crush on Jackie. Her whipsmart monologues dazzled me. She had this way of pulling you in with her musings. As I listened to her speak with a graceful intensity, I stared into her eyes, thinking, “Gosh, you’re brilliant!”
I think we both thought and felt things with such intensity because it was our way of soul-searching, extracting meaning, and trying to understand everything. We built our friendship on an unspoken tenet: “Let me understand you, and let us understand the world together.”
We must reveal ourselves to be truly understood. This thought is freeing and terrifying. Can Jackie see all of me, even the parts I've concealed? Each trauma and secret we confided in one another felt like shedding a layer of tight clothing, exposing our most vulnerable bits. In our intimate discussions about the questionable men we encountered, our body shame, and our yearnings to feel like we’re enough, perhaps we grappled with the same fear: Would someone genuinely love me for who I am? Do I even love myself for who I am? Some days, I recoiled in shame, fearing that I might have overshared and burdened Jackie with my pain.
At the turn of the spring semester, Jackie and I explored our separate interests. She joined the college newspaper and got a role in a play; I joined the water polo team and got a job lifeguarding. Drunk on reckless youth, I filled my nights with parties and Tinder dates. As our days became increasingly busy and rushed, my willingness to vent or listen to her vent diminished.
I wanted to forget all the pain we once shared, effectively erasing a part of our friendship. My denial manifested as impatience. A disagreement over something as trivial as dirty shoes marked the beginning of our drift apart. As the school year drew to a close, we moved out of our shared home, moving on to new phases of our lives separately.
In hindsight, I realize that my nineteen-year-old self was ashamed for being a bad roommate and a friend. Rather than opening up to Jackie about my feelings, I turned away, and she did the same.
I thought we’d never see each other again.
2017: The Reconnection
My girlfriends and I meet at a bar in Berkeley, our old stomping grounds. It's been a year since we graduated and ventured into the "real world." Amidst the din of the bustling bar, a familiar voice chimes through the noise.
“Rach?” And it belongs to a familiar face.
“Jackie!”
“It’s so good to see you.” We embrace and catch up on the years gone by.
Over the next few months, Jackie and I hang out a few times. We laugh as we’re freshmen girls again. I feel her energy radiate when she talks like a campfire on a chilly night. I want to sit and listen to her until the sun rises.
As our text conversations dwindle, I convince myself I shouldn’t force our friendship. Maybe I should give her space and let her initiate our next date. I don’t reach out to say that I’m thinking of her and hope to see her soon, fearing that I’d come off as needy. Weeks turn into months.
Our paths diverge again.
2023: The Reunion
On a Sunday afternoon, as I’m standing in a checkout line to buy a pair of jeans, I hear that familiar voice again. “Rach?”
I turn around to face Jackie. She’s back in my life. She’s back in my arms as we embrace again. She lived in Boston for five years and is now back in California. “I think of you often,” I tell her. It’s true.
We stand still, talking for so long that shoppers ask, “Are you in line?” We exchange our new phone numbers, and I walk out of the shop in a daze.
Like waves on the shore, certain friendships tend to ebb and flow.
While the unpredictability of such a connection can be as exhilarating as an on-and-off romance, it can also cast the friendship into a recurring state of uncertainty. When I saw Jackie again, it felt like a meaningful sign, like some divine force had orchestrated our reunion. This time, I won’t let our friendship slip away.
Years ago, I let my friendship with Jackie drift away first due to self-doubt about being a good friend and later because of my fear of smothering the relationship. My ego hindered my ability to express my love for her. What I now know about love & friendship is this: We must tell people how much they mean to us.
So I text Jackie. We make plans. We set a date. We sip our passionfruit cocktails and talk about books and our past lives. She smiles at me, and my lingering nerves melt into joy.
“You haven’t aged. You look like you did ten years ago,” she says. And I think the same about her.
Yet, I know we’ve aged – we’ve grown. We’ve grown up, apart, and back together again.
Thank you for reading Connection Crave. I promise to share my intimate writing with you here.
Special thanks to and for their help with this essay ❤️
Book I’m reading: Dubliners, a collection of short stories by James Joyce, recommended by Jackie, who said the book captures her desire to “know and feel a place.”
Music I’m listening to: Bewitched, the newest album by Laufey, an Icelandic-Chinese singer-songwriter. Her voice beautifully spans jazz, bossa nova, and bedroom pop. Although it’s hard to pick a favorite song, I adore "Second Best" and "California & Me."
Question for you, dear reader: What’s the last book you read recommended by a friend?
"I think of you often" is such a beautiful line. I loved reading about the ebbs and flows of your friendship, and how you grow, grow apart, grow again, and reunite again.
“Let me understand you, and let us understand the world together.” Is one of those lines that makes me look forward to the day you publish a collection of love letters for friends. Until then, I’m so grateful for your substack.
One of the books I’m reading right now is Knowledge of the Holy by AW Tozer. It’s challenging everything I believe about God on all fronts. quite a ride.