There's someone you think about every so often. An old roommate. A coworker from two jobs ago. The friend you used to see every weekend, who moved out of state and slowly became a name in your phone. You think about them, smile a little, and put the phone down. Reaching out to an old friend is one of the simplest kindnesses there is. It's also one of the easiest to keep putting off.
Why We Wait
Most of us wait for a reason. It's been too long. It would be weird now. They're probably busy. They didn't reach out either, so maybe that means something.
It usually doesn't mean anything. They're waiting for the same reasons you are. Two people, each sure the other one moved on, each a little glad when the other's name shows up in a birthday reminder. Somebody has to go first. It might as well be you.
The timing will never feel right, either. There is no perfect gap. Six months feels awkward. Three years feels more awkward. Ten years feels like a reunion. The awkward part lasts about four seconds. Then you're just talking.
What Reaching Out to an Old Friend Actually Takes
Not much. You don't need a reason. You don't need a long message catching them up on everything. You don't need to explain the silence. A few words is plenty:
- "Drove past our old spot today and thought of you."
- "Saw the snow in the forecast and remembered you digging my car out that one winter. Hope you're good."
- "No reason. Just thinking about you. How are you?"
That's it. You're not asking for anything. You're not starting a project. You're letting someone know they crossed your mind and you were glad they did.
If they write back, great. If they write back three days later with one line, also great. If they don't write back at all, you still did the kind thing. You said it. That part was yours, and it's done.
The Dark Comes Early Now
This time of year makes it matter a little more. The clocks have gone back. It's dark before dinner. The gray settles over Monroe County and mostly stays until spring. People go quiet in November. Not in a dramatic way. Just fewer plans, more evenings on the couch, more days where nobody calls.
A text on a Tuesday night in November lands differently than one in July. It might be the only message someone gets all day that isn't a reminder, a bill, or a group chat about who's bringing the rolls. You won't know that when you send it. That's sort of the point.
How It Moves From One Person to the Next
Here's what tends to happen. You reach out to one person. It goes fine. Better than fine. And a week later, they think of someone they haven't talked to in a while. Now they remember how nice it felt to hear from you, and their own excuse for waiting looks a little smaller.
Kindness works like that. It's less about the size of the thing and more about the permission it gives. One person goes first, and the next person finds it a little easier.
The holidays are coming. A lot of people will spend them wishing they'd heard from somebody. Some of those people are in your phone right now.
Do It Before You Talk Yourself Out of It
If a name came to mind while you were reading this, that's the one. Don't draft it in your head for a week. Don't wait for a better excuse. Send something short and kind, then go make dinner.
You won't get credit for it. Nobody tracks these things. There's no scoreboard for the text you sent on a cold night to someone you hadn't talked to in years. Do it anyway. Expect nothing back.
If you'd like something warm to wear while you work up the nerve, the Good Company Long Sleeve Tee was made for nights like these.
Go hold the door for someone. You'll never know how far it goes.
*AI wrote this from my voice and values that I've built with over a couple of years. I recently turned towards using that voice to write small acts of kindness for myself to read to start the day. It started as an email, now I just email myself news, the weather and if the cats need things. AI writes these now after signing off enough times it knows. This is for a blog and I thought I'd share them here.