I won’t miss my friends.

I don’t know if this is just how Adulthood is for everyone, but one thing that makes leaving Boulder easier—I’m moving in a month or three, whenever my house sells (it goes on the market in just a week)—is the fact that I have next to no friends.

Life is lonely, they say. You’re born alone and you die alone.

I don’t know about all of that, but I do know that I’ve worked hard and played hard to create community. I love community more than anything. I call Farmers’ Market “free therapy.” If I’m down or confused, I bike down to the Trident Cafe & Booksellers and after four folks ask me how I am, even if they don’t mean it, my brain starts processing how I am again, and I get out a grunt, and then a “things are hard” and then I find myself in a real, genuine, helpful, mutually healing conversation. That’s community. It’s magic.

But community isn’t friends. When you invite folks to your Housecooling Party (that’s, you know, saying goodbye to your Home Sweet Home after 19 years) and very few people RSVP, that’s the absence of real friends. Real friends bring you soup when you’re sick. Hell, they figure out you’re sick in the first place because you haven’t replied to their text or call or you didn’t show up to that thing you both do together on the regular.

When you invite friends to your Bday, and next to no friends show up, but lots of community shows up, god bless ’em, so after a few years you stop having birthday parties anymore. I think my last real birthday party was at 40. That’s 10 years ago, now. I love birthday parties. I love summer parties. I love house parties. I love networking parties. I love parties that aren’t all about alcohol, but are all about fun connection.

When your wife goes to the hospital and two friends show up to help, but community shows up in force, my neighbors and all…you know your friends are MIA.

And it’s not their fault, I guess. It’s adulthood, I guess. Everyone’s wrapped up in their things—children, spouse, dating, work, hobby. But I can’t tell you how many friendships I’ve kept on life support by being the one who reaches out. I’m kinda done reaching out. I lost one of my two best friends in the world a few years back when I finally tired of being the one to reach out.

So yeah: I’m leaving my hometown, my community, and I’m gonna miss the mountains. I’m gonna miss my Sangha. I’m gonna miss the memories on every street corner. And I’m gonna miss that sense of community, of conversation and caring in every café and restaurant and park and in between times. And I’ll miss you, Ryan, you’ve shown up.

But as for the rest? I won’t miss my friends.

If that sounds bitter, I’m okay with bitter, and I’m okay with sweet. I’m gonna communicate when it’s a song and happy and I’m gonna communicate when it’s sad and hard.

My last text message to you is still unread, or unreplied to. I’ve shown up for you. I’ve reached out to you.

Busy is an excuse that’ll take us to our graves. And real friendships are something I’ll always care about—and something I’ll always let go of, when it’s clear they’re unrequited.

So see you around, friends. Or not.

I’ll be in Indiana if you need me.