long time

I read this to Freddy and he said he loved it.

Part of the lore is that when we lived in Prescott, in some of the years during or following college, we worked at Prescott Coffee Roasters, the coffee shop owned and operated by Kelly and Christina Sell. We worked there because we did yoga with Christina, or we did yoga because we worked at the roasters. It didn’t really matter which one preceded the other. The yoga and the shop were intertwined.

We weren’t there at the same time. Chris came before, and then again after. It was in the after, once I had moved south to Tucson, but still traveled back as often as I could, to learn from and practice with the teacher, when we intersected.

I was fresh off a long relationship; we both were. College sweethearts that had run their course. I had organized a blind date for myself with a Prescott person a few years older than me- John Farmer, ring a bell? He was cute, and I was excited, but in the days leading up to the date, he ghosted me. That wasn’t a term back then, which is a shame because it happened to me all the time. I’d love to go so far as to say being ghosted was one of the most consistent features of my dating life. It happened a lot. I am a lot.

The way I remember it… I was talking to Christina on my OG flip phone, driving up from the desert on a Friday afternoon. We were chatting, making practice plans, and before we hung up she was like: "Hey, guess who’s back in town and working and at the shop? Newlin!

I’d love to retroactively give Christina credit for that initial connection. She planted a seed in that moment, and she knew it.

One of the most amazing things about the way life unfurls and time takes its turns and runs its course is the way all of these relationships have held. Even as they’ve shifted. Chris is still such good friends with Christina today. In a way that is so different from my relationship with her. I love that so much. This sort of sustained independence and autonomy. And yet, it’s all woven through with our interconnection.

Chris’s new job is based in Bellingham and he is traveling out there the first week of every month. He stays with Kelly and Christina when he goes. The coast of Washington is very far from Vermont and I am so happy that he has them.

I walked into the coffee shop that afternoon as soon as I pulled into town. Looking for Christina. Met by Chris. His broad, smiling face the same as it ever was. But also different from how I remembered him. More grown-up. More, I don’t know, ready to meet me.

We made plans to grab burgers up the street at the pub as soon as his shift ended. We were so excited to see each other. So open. So ready to connect. When my ex-boyfriend dumped me, I made a list of the qualities I wanted to find in my next love interest. The only two I remember are that I wanted him to be big like a bear and also happy. Please just be happy and not another punny, sad sack of a dude who can’t be nice to me.

( a couple of months later, my ex, who was still coming back to do laundry at the house that was no longer his, upon realising who I was dating, looked me in the face and said: I hope you have fun with Mr. Happy. Exactly dude. Exactly.)

We spent the whole weekend together. Or, every minute that I wasn’t at practice. Chatting. Catching up. Figuring out who we were now. On Saturday night, we went to dinner with Christina and Kelly, and afterward, when I dropped him off where his old van was parked, there was this ridiculously awkward moment when we were saying goodbye and he wasn’t sure what to do. Lean in or get outta there. He chose the latter. Bolted to the van. Jumped in. Sped away.

In the age of early cell phones, I called him on the spot and was like what the fuck was that, man? It was funny. And just right. We stayed up talking for hours. Laying it all out. The hopes and dreams paired with the hurt and heartache. That beginning dawn of realism that seeps in in your mid-twenties. We weren’t babies anymore, even though we were totally babies. By my third night in town, we were all wrapped up, limbs intertwined on a twin mattress on the floor of my friend’s house. Full of each other’s tenderness.

We spent a year running off to see each other. Me, north to Prescott. He, south to Tucson. He would pop in to say hi to Christina and I when we practiced and then zip off to ride bikes with Kelly or pick up shifts at the shop. Once, when he came into the studio, Christina totally indulged me in showing off all the more advanced postures we had been working on. Maybe she even egged me on. She encouraged me with Chris to be sure. And I imagine him with me, too.

I’m moved by the way we all still find each other in one another’s lives. So many different chapters. So many moves. So many iterations. I think it may be one of my favorite parts of growing older. These long relationships. All of their nuance and intricacy. What changes and, more importantly, what stays the same, but deepens and grows. What a gift to know someone well for so long. And to be known.