Four consecutive hugs could only be separated by reminiscing, future missing and misty eyes from imminent tears took place atop creaky wood floors that would have one less set of toe-tips. My bestie/roomie moved out to pursue her dreams of starting her bakery in her hometown in Colorado. I couldn’t be more happy for her but my heart already feels a void of my manicure buddy, late-night early-morning kitchen talk companion, pajama sleep-set wearing, lipstick-on-a-Tuesday lady.

Across the country, my most fabulous fur-wearing, lipstick-twin, half-Israeli, half-Russian, Korean and French speaking Silicon Valley born gal-pal living in Brooklyn texted me a photo of a card I had written her with neon circles denoting the need for clarification. What she though were the words “hard, methink” we were, if fact, “bad, neither”. I loved that 1. she took the time out of her day to stop in a Brooklyn diner to read my card alone and 2. she actually asked me for a translation in my curled slant handwriting. Over the years, I have hovered over many a shoulder in anticipation of assisting and decoding but rarely is my offer accepted. Our text message thread continued in me using more than one punctuation mark?! for the many questions in my brain and her responding with an “Oy” followed by a Vey” which pretty much sums up my state of mind lately.

I’ve been thinking a lot about friendships lately. About how there are some (most) moments in life that are best enjoyed when shared. Like the moment the rain hit San Francisco (EVERYTHINGSTOPOMGWHATISTHISWETNESS – let’s face it…SF homies can’t hang in some rain. They melt. True story.) and among the madness that is already criss-cross intersections (you all know the ones…the walk sign lights up in both directions which means you can WALK DIAGONALLY) a man cuts me off. But not just any man. A man wearing a clear raincoat, with a clear umbrella and a clear backpack. To be completely transparent here, I just wanted to call someone – anyone – and share in this sartorial joy. The mom-voice in my head said “well now that’s just unsafe” but the little kid in me just said “rad”. If I didn’t have a gym bag, purse and a coffee in my hands, I totally would have made that call.

There are certain people who will get certain stories better than others. The best part is you know who those people are – who your go-tos are for the slightly inappropriate comment, the people who share in your locker room woes, your fellow shit-list creators, your silver-lining folks and your down-right giggle factories (my sister). We’ve got our people and each one offers something completely and beautifully unique than the other. My birthday is fast approaching and thinking about who in my posse I want to spend time with, I realize in my 30s I’ve really pared down and subconsciously picked who it is I choose to surround myself with. No more pity invites, acquaintance FOMOers who feel more terribly about missing out than I do about their attendance. It’s a great feeling to be more clear about who I am to better know who lifts me up. The people I surround myself with add so much oomph to my life and though I can be both Cynical Cindy or Bubbly Betsey, my friends get it. They get me.

My parents warned me early on about San Francisco being a transient city. The ebbs and flows of the city’s dreamers can sometimes be hard to adjust to – especially when those dreamers are some of the best people I know. Though I’m dreaming in one spot for the time-being, it’s so uplifting to see some of my favorite people make it happen. The reason they’ve moved away is the very same reason I love them. It’s just the next chapter, it’s not goodbye (and even as I write this, I tell myself again).

Dreamers gonna dream. Friendships gonna friend.