At some point in the last few years, I became a homebody. I’m reluctant to go out. I used to love going out. I couldn’t stay home.
Tonight, I met up with a real good friend of mine. He’s good at keeping in touch, checking in, and planning a dinner. I appreciate that about him. I don’t reciprocate.
I don’t reach out because I’m quite happy to just stay home and do whatever I would do anyway, probably just watch the same movie again. This is a fault of mine.
Every time I go out with my buddy, I enjoy myself. He introduced me to a new restaurant, fills me in on the drama of his life — he likes to tell a story — and I ask him questions about things I’ve been thinking about. We discuss. I walk away feeling like I learned something. It’s a good thing. It’s something I can’t do on my own, in my apartment, while watching the same movie again.
Whenever we say goodnight, he always reminds me to reach out, to just send him a text because he’s around. I should