- After losing my job, I wanted to use my free time to catch up with people.
- I was nervous on my way to meet a stranger who had been my friend on LiveJournal.
- Reconnecting made me feel 19 again.
On a Wednesday afternoon in August, I sat at my kitchen table and tried not to sound creepy. I was about to slide into the DMs of a stranger who was maybe actually a girl I’d known on the internet.
Reaching into the past is like operating one of those arcade claw machines in a dark room: you’ll emerge either with a treasured artifact or empty-handed. Even if the Instagram account I’d found was the same Sarah I’d known on LiveJournal as “lonelypainter,” a reference to Joni Mitchell’s “A Case of You,” I didn’t know if she’d want to reconnect. Not everyone is as nostalgic as I am.
I only had to wait 10 minutes for my answer. “Hi! You guessed correctly! It blew my mind a bit to see the username ‘heyromeo’ pop up in my notifications! Wow. It’s great to hear from you! How have you been?”
We fell right into talking about art again, encouraging each other like we had all those years ago when I knew her as a writer, and she supported my budding literary identity.
I decided it was time for us to meet in person.
We lived about 2 hours away
Now, Sarah was also a musician, and I loved her clear, delicate voice as I listened to her song clips on Instagram.
After losing my job at the end of September, I resolved to take chances and catch up with people while I had the time. Sarah and I had only lived about two hours apart for most of the past 20 years; why not finally meet up “IRL”? She loved the idea, and we picked a Sunday in November.
I felt nervous when the day came as if preparing for a first date. What if the virtual friendship we remembered fondly didn’t carry over to the real world?
Jason Isbell, one of Sarah’s current favorite musicians, played softly on the television as we drank tea in her cozy living room. It felt like hanging out, particularly in college, when being under 21 or too broke to go out, leads to talking, watching movies, or listening to music in dorms and first-apartment living rooms.
I felt like I was 19 again
In the 15 years since we drifted away from LiveJournal, I was still married, now with two kids. Sarah said she felt like she’d “lived many lives.” I told her about my novel-in-progress and we discussed the essays she’d recently published on her Substack about recovery and sobriety.
Before I left, Sarah played a few songs for me on piano and guitar, a John Prine cover and some originals. I felt goosebumps as I heard “Room To Move,” a song about leaving an abusive relationship with a defiant chorus of “And I don’t ever miss you.”
Time collapsed; I felt 19, 41, and all the years between. The project of reading my LiveJournal and seeing Sarah’s comments on nearly every entry inspired me to look for her. It also showed me how many people come into and out of our lives over the years. Staying close to all of them wouldn’t be possible, nor is it always desirable. But I feel deeply grateful for every connection I ever made, however fleeting or painful.
“From my writer’s heart to yours,” Sarah signed her CD for me. I drove home listening to the songs I’d just heard live, my friend’s voice filling the car with warmth, and a plan to return in March to see her play again.
