After almost two weeks of battling jet lag, I stopped waking up at 3 am.
I started waking up with the city. California began to feel less like a trip and more like an old home I returned to.
I called friend A to visit my new home. He is an old friend - the kind who notices everything, in the most nuanced details, and can quickly map out your inner psyche.
He immediately noticed the mugs I bought from a grocery store in the Mission.
“Hmm,” he said, smiling. “you are collecting mugs again.”
“Meaning?” I looked up from pouring my coffee.
“It means you’re starting to feel at home again,” he said, “and you always like these rustic things. ”
That moment. I felt deeply seen, in a quiet yet profound way.
The way he saw me before I said anything, and before I even noticed my life unfolding.
What a great gift.
This is why some old friends are like gold - they know you so well and hold up a mirror for you. Unlike romantic relationships, we are less likely to feel threatened and more likely to be safely seen.
Every now and then, we just need some reminder to see how far we have gone, where we have been, and meanwhile, we still hold the same gentle ground deeply in our heart - we are still the person we were so proud to become a long time ago, and then we lost them somehwere along the way, perhaps, in a different country or city, but one day, we encounter that part again, maybe earning a few gentle lines at the corners of our eyes.
We travel far.
We lose parts of ourselves.
And then one day, we unpack a box, touch something familiar, and realize: We are still who we meant to be.
At least, the mugs said so.