SFO

The airport (and all it implies) was sort of omnipresent this weekend and into the first part of the week. From the driver's seat of my Subaru I watched the last three pulling their suitcases through the sliding doors and I didn't pull out right away. I realized that my friends whose summer travel somehow involved me are people who had or have formed, continue to form, or who just recently arrived to form the core of my support circle. They departed (or will soon do so) for or are still in points in Europe, the U.S., the Middle East, Asia and the Américas and will be having life-transforming adventures and experiences: an unexpected vocation, an expression of commitment to a relationship, a holy pilgrimage, reunion with family, an opportunity for CV building and networking, a brilliant career move.

Not until the last party's departure did I wish I were going somewhere, but was really just from guilt. Yes, I finally admitted, like they said, I should be in Río. But I'm not ready. And I actually don't want to go anywhere. I can't. Not until October.

I knew I'd miss them all, but thought that maybe some time solo would be good for me. I never used to mind alone time and in fact would quite often crave it. But over the past years, and as my social circle has expanded and deepened in a way I never thought it would since moving here, I haven't really felt as often that urge to just be alone. And I think that speaks volumes of my friends.

I look forward to when they all come back, transformed in large and small ways, but hopefully not unrecognizable. I want to hear about what they've done and seen and heard and tasted and smelled and felt. And while a drive to the airport is not in my plans for their returns, I wouldn't be surprised...