We recently found ourselves back on the road to New Orleans – a long weekend trip was just what two burned-out adults and one six-year-old, who couldn’t believe school was still going on, needed. Five hours in the car passed a little quicker with good conversation, great podcasts and our favorite tunes. And just like that, we were back in the Big Easy.
But this trip felt different, special. It wasn’t just another visit to Crescent City. This time, we met up with some friends from Flint and their toddler daughter. And for me, this wasn’t just any friend – it was my closest friend from middle school. How she still likes me after all these years, I’ll never know.
When we were kids, Ashley and I lived for “TRL” on MTV. We made serious declarations about which NSYNC member was the cutest and which Backstreet Boy we would marry. Friday nights at my house turned into Saturdays at hers. We stayed up late eating junk, watching music videos and pouring over our yearbooks, drawing on the faces of people we didn’t like and putting “hearts” next to all the cute boys. We were 11, right on the cusp of being too old to be kids, but not quite ready to grow up. We had dreams, plans and inside jokes. Those two girls had no idea what the future held.
Years passed, as they do. I moved across the county to attend private school in eighth grade, and before social media, that pretty much meant friendships would fade away. We might call each other a few times, but life moved on. Somehow, though, we kept running into each other here and there, until we started to seek each other out intentionally. Pizza, Sprite and Blockbuster nights evolved into wine and hours-long talks. Whenever I visited my mom in Flint, I made sure to fit Ashley in. Eventually, she invited me to a party where I met my now-husband – once my high school crush, now her husband’s best friend and Flint Rogues Rugby teammate (the smallness of the world never ceases to amaze).
So, there we were 27 years later, in New Orleans. Neither had managed to marry a boy band member, unfortunately; but both are happily married with our little ones around the table. We raised our Pimm’s Cups or glasses of champagne, and it’s unreal to think how all of this began so many years ago. It’s as if the universe knew we were meant for this, chuckling quietly as we made plans of our own.
We danced in Jackson Square, holding the hands of our two-year-old firecracker and our six-year-old dancing king. Our husbands watched our purses while we skipped through the streets, feeling like 12-year-olds, 16-year-olds, 23-year-olds and 38-year-olds all at once. I watched my son as he looked at “the baby,” telling me how much he liked her. And it made me excited for him – maybe, 30 years from now, he and this sweet little girl will return to New Orleans, remembering their mothers, and the friendship will live on through them.
It’s a reminder that travel is not just about visiting a new place, but about who you are when you make that journey. I’m a different person than I was at 11, different than I was on my first trip to New Orleans. While the city remains mostly the same, I experience it differently now. You can travel to the same place 100 times, and it’s always a little different because you are different. And that’s one of the beautiful things about travel … you discover not only a place but also yourself.
Those two little girls, so eager to grow up, never imagined that, even after all this time, our friendship would endure – deepened and evolved, but still as strong as ever. If they could see us now, they’d be thrilled to dance with us in Jackson Square, proud to know that what started in a middle school in 1997 had blossomed into two beautiful lives.
See you in NOLA next time, Ashley.
