Like a reanimated corpse I shuffled through my apartment. I forced my recoiling synapses into firing directions that dictated my limbs to stuff laundry into a basket and tossed the detergent on top.  The gym clothes were donned with abandon and my ambitions of cardio were feeling like a daunting proposition. Yet, driven by time constraints and the impending sunday work shift, I propelled my existence out of the door.

To kill time between the laundering and the drying cycles. I ventured to the nearby grocery, sure that my trip would be so brief as to force me to tarry an excruciating 15 minutes in the midst of similar pale-faced wraiths whose need for clean underwear on a Sunday morning was the only validating cause for their presence in the laundromat.

Having but one purpose, procurement of Powerade to fuel my image satisfying athletic endeavor, I very nearly walked right by my long time friend Brandi.  We see each other so infrequently that my boss might as well be a more realistic friend. But she has known me. She has known me more deeply than most of my Facebook “friends.”  We were the best of friends in college just a short twelve years ago and have stayed in touch throughout those years.  We have lived a mere few miles from each other and yet see each other 3-4 times a year at most.  Life and all of its pursuits seem to leech into potential time we could spend with each other.  In those instances where we do encounter each other though, there is a wholeness and completeness of understanding that permits us to chat inanely for 10 minutes and still have a fulfilling conversation. Promises are made to spend time together, that at this point, both of us are aware will be difficult to fulfill.  We part with assurances to hang out soon, and I am elated at having had this random opportunity to see my friend.

My determined in-and-out approach resumes and I find my goal shortly there after. I literally walk right by him when I’m swayed from my aim by a cheery “Hey, what’s up man?” Travis is standing wearily next to the coffee products I have just passed. I offer my sincerest apologies and he insists its no big deal.  He assures me that we have a hazy mental state in common and we begin to chat about fantasy football as we always do. When we lived in the same location we were the soundest of friends. We shared brews and football. We shared video games and party stories.  We have known each other forever.  Travis was one of the few that came to visit me in college when I was four hours from home.  He and I live minutes from each other.  And I see him a mere several times a year.

Why do I never see these people? I can be part of their lives through Facebook or the occasional text message.  Does that act as a substitute for calling them up to go out for a beer?  Is the in person interaction that much more challenging?

Admittedly that unplanned thirty minutes with my friends in the grocery store made me feel terrific. It was an organic, genuinely satisfying feeling of connection that couldn’t have been satisfied by IM, or text, or any other cold digital outreach. These people have been part of my life, for many, many years.  The only way to appreciate them as such is to see them  in person.  There is no substitute for a handshake and a clap on the back, or a platonic emotional embrace.  There is no substitute for looking one in the eye and hearing and seeing the expressions of true unfiltered emotion on someone’s face.  I owe them more than a casual text message once every two weeks.

Going forward I endeavor to do so.

Sunday Morning Coming Down is a great song by Kris Kristofferson also covered by Johnny Cash among others.