Dear all,

I had a lot of goals on my recent trip back home to Vancouver. Unencumbered by the obligations inherent in travelling with wife and daughter, I had free reign to paint my days as they came: kick over some old stones in my home town, get together with old friends – some of whom I hadn’t seen in more than 30 years – re-connect with family strung half-way across Western Canada, even interview my mother on camera about her life growing up in the good-old days.

One friend I met up with is Wendy. You’ll find her on my blogroll, Living Life Lusciously. Wendy is a special friend to me, not only because of who she is, but because I met her at a time I knew would never come again. I knew that with every turn of the corner, every new country, every new challenge in a three-month jaunt throughout most of western Europe, a month in Egypt, a half-year in Israel and a month in Turkey from Summer 1980 to Summer 1981 that I was living through an irreplaceable high point in my life.

I could go on and tell you the story of how I met Wendy and how I feel about our friendship, one that has endured a dormancy which would have snuffed most others. But she beat me to it! With her permission I’m copying verbatim something she wrote on her blog not long after we met up again for the first time in more than a quarter-century.

The only thing I’ve added is the bold at the bottom. As I read it I said out loud to myself: YES. This is so true. Live your life this way. It’s the only way.

Yesterday I met a friend I hadn’t seen in more than 27 years. Ian and I came across each other in the train station in Sevilla, Spain in 1980. He was standing with his backpack on, staring up at the train schedules when I spied him. The little Canadian flag stitched onto his pack seemed to wave at me like a tiny beacon of home.

We were both heading toward Portugal – the Algarve, then Lisbon. We were going the same direction and like travellers the world over, we threw our lot in together, sharing train rides, squashed bread and tomatoes from backpacks slung onto so many overhead racks, and hostels at the end of the world. The goal was to see as much of Europe as possible on the least amount of money.

After a week travelling together, we went separate ways at the border of Spain and France, I heading toward Switzerland to visit relatives and family and friends, Ian heading to Greece and points east. For a while we wrote each other, but then somehow the letters stopped, life got busy, moved on and we lost touch. Then one day last year the phone rang and I heard his voice. I knew it instantly. Thanks to the internet, Ian had found me. He lives half a world away, but this spring planned a visit to Canada. So we arranged to meet.

This is one of the thrills of a lifetime. Old friends return like the recesses of memory, suddenly coming into focus again, clear and bright like a glossy photo. In a few short moments, we picked up where we had left off, sensing the passing years melt away like butter in the sunshine. We reminisced about our travels, caught upon where the intervening years had taken us, and shared the details of our lives today.

These kinds of connections, made at different points in our lives, remain as part of us. The people with whom we share our lives don’t just come and go, disappearing forever without a trace. They all leave a mark, an impression, and that mark is woven into the fabric that makes a life. These people that we encounter are co-creators with us in the weaving of our lives, making us who and what we are. Even if we lose touch forever, they will always be a part of us.

That is way it is so important to be real in all our relationships. Artifice not only robs others of the truth you have to share, it prevents us from being known for who we really are. It prevents the heart connections that shape us and give our lives flavour. We need these connections to build our lives. These connections are the thrills of a lifetime – the love we share, the lives that touch ours, and those impressions that last forever. So I thank you, Ian, and all the others, who have helped to make my life. You are the thrills of a lifetime.

All for now,

Ian

PS: Please scroll down one to “Thrills of a Lifetime” if you click on the link to Wendy’s post. – I