I met up with a very old friend last night, someone I’ve been friends with since I was 11. It was the last opportunity I’d get before he and his family moved to America. And I’m not sure what I want to say about it, but I do want to say something.
On one hand I’m thrilled for him. Thrilled that he has a wonderfully nice wife and now a baby. And thrilled that he’s able to emigrate, that he’s able to start a new life with his family.
But I’m also sad. It’s a real end of an era. We’re grown up. We’ve moved on. We’ve lives of our own. And there’s a big part of me that wishes it was me moving (it’s something that’s been talked about, but talking’s different to doing, isn’t it?).
I also saw, quite plainly, how different my life is to most other ‘normal’ people’s. Now, I like being different and I love doing what I do (and I’m not sure I’d be any good at doing much else). I think it just feels odd when I compare.
So that’s it, I think.
Welcome to the world, A. And all the very best, to the three of you.