The view from here

Dear reader,

Midlife does not make everything clearer. Some things simply lose their urgency; others come into focus. This is not a reckoning, but the freedom to look more closely: what still belongs, what can be left, and what deserves room now?

Imagine finding an old address book while looking for a stamp. A friend’s name is there in blue ink. You can still picture the chipped yellow bowl she kept her keys in. You have no idea where she keeps them now. If somebody asked whether the two of you were still friends, you would say yes without hesitation. Then you might count the years since you last sat in her kitchen.

There were good reasons to let a Sunday go by. Somebody was moving. Somebody’s father needed a lift. It seemed extravagant to take two trains for a cup of coffee when you could arrange a proper visit later. A decade can fill up with perfectly sensible choices like those.

What would you ask if you were in her kitchen today? “How have you been?” is almost too large a question. You might ask what she reads when she can’t sleep, or whether she still swims on Wednesdays. You might tell her you remember that yellow bowl. She might laugh and say it was green. There is a particular pleasure in giving another person the chance to correct your memory of her.

You could put the book back in the drawer. You could also tear a sheet from the pad beside the kettle and write two lines. “I was looking for a stamp and thought of you. Would you have time for a coffee on Sunday?” There’s room at the bottom to say which train you can catch.