Bloomberg Released an op-ed last week that discusses the complexities of loneliness in young people, compound that with watching Normal People on Hulu—which is very NSFW do not watch it with your family—this week, the release of Stephanie Meyer’s Midnight Sun, and Taylor Swift’s folklore [sic], I have been reflecting a great deal about people from the different eras of my life. Not only the people who have most affected my life, like parents and siblings, but also childhood best friends, celebrities, high school frenemies, bodega men, and baristas. Maybe it is the result of quarantine or my newfound singledom, maybe it is because I spent fifty-two days without touching another living being then thirty-six days without a moment of solitude when I fled the city for my mother’s house the first time—back when we Americans still hoped we would have COVID under control by July—whatever the reason, I am beginning to realize how every person and every moment in my life enriches the next. My dear friend Fiona once told me that I, “live the most self-examined life” of anyone she had ever met. So, in that spirit, I will be exploring the influences of my community members in three parts. Part I: The Effects of a Shared Childhood, Part II: When we attempt to Build our Communities as Young Adults, Part III: How People Influence our Place and Motivations.

Part I: The Effects of a Shared Childhood

The first of these freezeframe moments came a few weeks ago. On the most beautiful July 18th to ever occur, my childhood best friend got married on her family’s property; I had been heart-wrenchingly nervous about it. I was worried about COVID and masks, I was worried about what people from back home might say about my canceled engagement, I was worried about whether my dress was too low cut. I almost did not go, in fact, on July 17th I had resolved not to go. Until my dental-hygienist asked how I was doing, and for some reason, I told her every reservation I had about attending the wedding. Why did I tell her any of these fears? I have no idea, but I did. Forty-five minutes later, I left the dentist with a new toothbrush and the fundamental understanding that I would never forgive myself if I missed my best friend’s wedding.

The moment the bride stepped out of her front door and my eyes began to well with tears, I could not imagine not being there. Come September, she and I will have known each other for twenty-one years, she is as much a part of my identity as any of my siblings—no matter how different our families may seem. She tied my shoes for four years when this very left-handed little girl could not figure it out. I spoke-up where she could not. I do not know what I taught her, or what influence I have had on her. I may never know, but I do know the unending influence she and her family have had on me. She was not the only person I saw that day that made me teary to see. Having come from Philadelphia, I stuck to the outskirts of the ceremony, and the reception. I would never forgive myself if I carried COVID into this community that helped raise me. One guest of the grooms would not let me be lonely though. He wanted to know all about my work in historic sites and had question after question about the founding of the country, then I sat down to eat alone so I would not be unmasked around anyone vulnerable.

During dinner, I looked up and heard a remarkably familiar grumble of, “Soto.” The bride’s older brother was acknowledging me the way he always had. I think, one is always ten years old in the eyes of the older siblings of a childhood friend. Her aunt came and demanded a hug and her mother beamed at me, it does not matter how long I have been gone or how far I run these people are a part of me.

This July 18th wedding reminded me of the wedding of another childhood friend four years ago. I was just about to move back to Minnesota from Philadelphia the first time—due to another inexplicable crumbling of my life—and in the middle of the reception surrounded with the community of my childhood I realized how loved I was back home and that everything would be okay. Each person at these weddings helped create the person I am, some more directly than others. These people include the woman who makes the best monster cookies in the world, the couple who not only gave me my first job but more support than I could have ever expected from a classmate’s parents, my high school FACS teacher, and a handful of other childhood friends who were graced with growing up in our strange little community.

As children, we do not get to choose our community. In small-town Minnesota, you do not really get to choose your childhood friends either, but I find I am extremely lucky that my parents landed me where they did. In a graduating class of nineteen people—most of whom have been in school together since PRE-K—you know a few things. You know that when high school comes around you absolutely must date people from other schools because the twelve kids you’ve known since you were four years old are your siblings, we know every embarrassing thing about first-grade birthday parties, fifth-grade spelling bees, and that time… oh never mind we don’t talk about it. We know that some of us will stay in our hometown and send their kids to our school, some of us will leave and come back, some of us will run far away and visit for holidays and reunions and some of us will never come back. We also know, Mrs. Winter will make you watch A Walk to Remember and it will make everyone cry in English Class, we know that Connie will be in the stands for every Patriot sporting event until the end of time, we know the sound of the pebbles crunching underfoot in the playground, and that is something special.

I have no idea how often the people from back home think about me or our shared past, but I hope they know how much I celebrate and mourn with every moment of their lives. I keep up with every professional volleyball team Erica signs with each year, I fret and rejoice for the pregnancies of the women I grew up with, I listen to Austin’s music, I cheer Kylee’s academic pursuits—for some reason, we both seem to always be going back to school—I wonder about the silent friends, Elena and I share pictures of the kittens we’ve adopted. I hope they all know that while life moves on, I am still there for them because they are a part of who I am.

To Be Continued…

Part II: When we attempt to Build our Communities as Young Adults

Above: A photo of the bride and Michelle in 2003.