As the school year begins, I am left reflecting on childhood and early adulthood friendships and the meaning they have held in my life, no matter how significant or fleeting. Some of these friendships have lasted throughout the years, while others have dissolved over time.
I recall, as a child, thinking that the relationships I had were built for, and meant to, stand the test of time. Just as we moved through each class and weaved our way through the halls of school, we find ourselves navigating through life and friendships. Some of our friendships fall apart as we grow; others grow with us.
The feeling of disappointment and hurt when these “forever” friendships fizzled was devastating at the time. Little did I know then that those childhood friendship fizzles were just a proving ground for my ability to withstand losing friends later in life.
Recently, we attended our 30-year high school reunion, where we had the opportunity to visit with many friends, both current and past. I bumped into a friend of a mutual childhood friend. That mutual friend and I had been close in childhood until she moved away. Some 20 years later, we reconnected as adults.
For the next several years, we spent most weekends together and shared what I would now describe as a bit of a trauma bond, both having gone through divorce. We taught each other new perspectives, encouraged one another, and laughed—and boy, did we laugh. We were inseparable.
Until one day, I was unable to reach her.
After several days of texts and calls left unanswered, I received an email from her stating that she no longer wanted to be my friend.
I was absolutely shaken.
She was the one friend I had through an incredibly difficult time, and we had years of history between us. How could she just break up with me? And through an email?
Needless to say, I cried for weeks on end—reviewing, questioning, worrying, and trying to understand what had happened.
Over time, I was able to release the idea that the death of the friendship had everything to do with me. Instead, I began to see that perhaps it was telling of what she was experiencing. Something in her life suggested that she needed to let go of some things, and I happened to be one of them.
Yoga philosophy speaks often of non-attachment, or aparigraha. For me, this does not mean becoming indifferent or refusing to care deeply. It means learning not to cling so tightly to the idea that something meaningful must last forever in order to have been real.
That lesson has not come easily.
All these years later, here I am: still disconnected, but no longer carrying the emotional baggage I once checked at my own gate.
After seeing her friend at the reunion, I felt a flood of emotions rush over me, but not the same hurt I felt all those years ago.
Instead, I felt gratitude.
Gratitude for the opportunity to know what a true, caring, and loving friendship felt like, even if only for a moment in time.
Maybe that is part of the nonlinear nature of relationships. Not every friendship is meant to travel with us for the entirety of our lives. Some walk beside us for decades. Some appear for a season. Some arrive during a very specific chapter and help us become the person we need to be next.
Their ending does not necessarily erase their meaning.
Non-attachment asks us to honor what was without demanding that it remain what it once was. To appreciate the love, laughter, growth, and companionship without believing we must possess the relationship forever in order for it to matter.
Going forward, I will carry this lesson with me, knowing that one day it may be me who needs to release someone from my life. And perhaps there can be grace in that, too.
Some relationships grow with us. Some grow apart from us. And some simply teach us what we needed to learn while they were here.
Perhaps the practice is not in holding on, but in learning how to love fully while allowing life—and each other—to change.
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