Spending time with your childhood friends is good for your soul. Like, deep-clean-the-attic-of-your-heart good. I had the absolute joy of spending a week in one giant house with some of my best friends I’ve known since I was tiny and probably wearing questionable outfits and making questionable decisions.
We keep in touch. We see each other when we can. But real, intentional, “no one has to rush home to kids or dogs” time? Rare. So we did the adult thing..took time off work, packed bags, and committed to seven straight days of laughter, memories, and wildly unnecessary shenanigans. And wow… we really showed up for the assignment.
We cooked every meal. We played all the games. We relived old stories (some improved with age, some definitely not). We laughed until our stomachs hurt and our faces felt permanently stuck in smile mode. Somewhere along the way, our little circle expanded to include husbands, wives, and significant others who somehow fit perfectly into a friendship that started over 40 years ago.
Forty years. That’s not casual. That’s not luck. That’s commitment with a side of chaos.
This group has spent a lifetime supporting each other through the loud seasons and the quiet ones. We’ve been each other’s safe place. We tell the truth, even when it’s uncomfortable. We show up when life gets messy. We protect each other like it’s part of the job description. Having this kind of friendship with one person is rare. Having it with a group? That’s lightning-in-a-bottle rare.
Kindergarten. Elementary school. Middle school. High school. College. Twenties. Thirties. Now here we are, knocking on the door of fifty and still showing up for each other. That deserves celebration.
One night I looked around the table and realized I was sitting with four people who know everything about me. The secrets. The dumb mistakes. The quirks. The things that set me off and the exact words needed to talk me off the ledge. It hit me hard in the best way, because I know all those things about them too.
We are wildly different humans tied together by a bond that clearly has a very high tolerance level. Honestly, I can’t imagine life without them. And when you feel that way about people, you know it’s real. You know you’ll do whatever it takes to keep them.
There were quiet moments during the week where I felt a little sadness. That realization that I haven’t always shown up the way I should have. Times I didn’t call. Times I let life get busy and checked in less than I should. Times I was, frankly, a crappy friend.
And then gratitude showed up right behind that feeling. Because none of them hold those things against me. They’ve had their moments too. That’s the secret sauce. We show up when it matters, even when we don’t realize we’re doing it. We carry strength for each other when someone is running low. We love hard. Always have.
I love these people hard. I tell them. I show them. I don’t sit in guilt over the moments I fell short. I just make sure the time I have left is spent proving how much they mean to me.
Lessons Learned From One Week in a Giant House Together
- We are wildly inappropriate as a group. Like… impressively so.
- Collectively, we could survive a shipwreck. No question.
- We are all aggressively early risers now. This is who we are.
- None of us can party like we used to, and honestly, we’re fine with that.
- Annual group trips are no longer optional. They are mandatory for survival.
If you’re lucky enough to have friendships like this, protect them. Feed them. Show up for them. And for the love of all things holy…book the trip.
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