Beth and I have a long-standing text thread that is several years of the same exchange over and over:
"I saw this -- we should go."
"See you then."
"I'm in your driveway."
"That was so fun. 💙"
Completely straight forward, and always punctuated with a tiny blue heart.

​
Beth has long legs that are invariably exposed. She wears kicky little dresses every darn day, and swears she bought them forever ago.
Her hair is flippy and dippy and she cuts it herself.
She doesn't fly, so everywhere she's going is within driving distance.
She says she has no memory and that she can't smell anything.
She's punctual, period.
And she microwaves a frozen Lean Cuisine for lunch at the same time every morning.

​
She also celebrates my crazy ideas, whatever they are.
Beth asks lots of questions about them, she lets me know what she thinks about them,
but she ultimately cheers them.

​
We've been on lots of adventures together; we hoot and holler through every single one.
Except for one time.
Beth came to pick me up to keep us on schedule.
As I ducked into her car, she queried incredulously, "Are you wearing fishnets??"
I got situated in the seat, and then, I melted into a puddle of tears.
She turned down the music, turned off the car, and tuned into me completely.
All was well shortly thereafter, but we definitely missed our meeting. We never left the driveway. (And there were no follow-up questions on the fishnets either.)

​
My beloved friend Beth is a creature of habit.
And yet,
she drops everything just...to be.
Be present, be real, be wholly available.

​
She says she has no memory, but Beth never forgets to ask about every person I love.
She also wore pants recently.
We went to see a show downtown in the middle of a snow storm and Beth wore pants.
That was so fun. 💙

​
People are THE BEST.
LoveLoveLove,

**Did you see that we have our own social-media homes now?
IG: @letmetellyouthisgoodnews​
FB: Let Me Tell You THIS​
Follow along and invite your people; this kind of connection is the highest use of technology.