23. Don't Put Off Today, What You Can't Do Tomorrow

This one comes hard-learned. In the photo to the left is my friend Ken Ober, who died this past weekend (also in the photo is my friend Stephanie). I hadn't talked to Ken in a couple of months, but maybe it's been longer. There'd been email exchanges, perhaps a random phone call here and there, but I always thought there'd be time. He wanted to get together awhile back. He was willing to drive over, pick me up at whatever time I wanted, and bring me home. Yet somehow I managed to not go. It wasn't about him. It's sort of been like that with most people lately. I blame it on not having the time; life is too busy, I have too much to do. But somehow, over the past couple of years, I've just let things slip past me. Friends I adore, things I love to do, have just little by little started to fade away. Partly this is because I am busy - that's what happens when you're a single parent for most of the week. Single parents are in worker bee mode. That alarm rings at 5:45 a.m., and you are on the go until 10:00 p.m. There's not an ounce of spontaneity on those days.

However, I do have two nights a week to myself so why have I let this happen? I write this not really having an answer. This is, perhaps, self-examination on the fly. And why is it so many of us don't really stop to think about things until something terrible has happened? In this case, the death of one of the kindest, funniest, most generous friends I've ever known.

I used to be one of the most social people I knew. In my 20s, I was out every night. I loved crowds, parties, clubs. I even loved the packed subway. I found it exhilarating. Everyday was an adventure I couldn't wait to explore. Of course, by 31 I was pregnant and life took a different path. Now I was up in the middle of the night not because I was rolling in before the sun came up, but because I was breast-feeding. Yet I was still social; dinner parties, drinks with friends, art openings. When I was in Austin, I was going to see my friends play music or hosting parties at my house all the time. I met new people constantly.

Now, at the time when I probably should be social (single, in the last few years of being somewhat okay to look at, still in possession of bodily and mental functions), I'm the most isolated I've ever been. It's not that I don't go out - it's just that I go out and I'm home by 9:00 p.m. most of the time. No kidding. Now there's a nice little life I've carved out for myself, right? Meanwhile, life goes on. My son gets older, I get older. Time doesn't stop because I have.

If I constantly say no, eventually no one's going to ask. If I don't answer the phone, it will stop ringing. If I don't go see friends I've known for nearly 20 years, they will go away and that is a very, very sad lesson to learn.

I vow to call my friends, make plans to see them, and open myself up to the adventure that life still is.

That's probably the corniest, most embarrasing line I've ever written and I am cringing, but it's message is important. To me, anyway.