It’s currently 1:30 am, and I’ve just booked a spur-of-the-moment flight to San Francisco to see a few of my best friends. My work schedule was just published, and I noticed I had the weekend off, which is a rare occurrence in the restaurant world, where weekends typically mean a full staff and most time-off requests denied. With business slowing down as the summer season comes to an end, I still never saw a full weekend off in the cards. As soon as I saw the magical words, “You are not scheduled to work” in the slots covering Saturday and Sunday, the world opened up for me. And naturally, I thought, “why don’t I take a trip?”

Living back home in San Diego post-grad means being separated from those immediate moments that only occur when you live in a house with nine of your best friends. My nights—which used to be filled with ten steps to someone else’s room or living room hang-out sessions—took a solitary turn, filled with me, my phone, and Gilmore Girls or a twenty minute drive to a friend’s house. I grew too accustomed to four years living with roommates I loved that now my nights alone at home feel endlessly empty. I call people all the time, but a face tethered to a screen is never the same as an immediate living body. 

All summer, I kept planning things that would keep me looking forward to something. I’ve been trying to move to New York City ever since I got home, but the job search and equally-daunting housing search has been an unrelenting cycle of coming close, and falling through. “I’m just gonna make the jump, and see where I land,” is what I keep telling myself, and honestly that attitude has never done me wrong; it got me through every big decision I made in Berkeley, and I was successful all throughout. But while I’m still building towards that day, I need other things to keep me going. 

I first saw my college roommates again for someone’s June birthday; I drove up to Orange County and spent two days in Irvine. Then, we had planned for our next reunion to be the 4th of July, taking on the craze of Newport Beach for America’s 250th birthday. In August, I flew to New York to see some of my friends that were settling in there, including my best friend from home who had just moved that week. On Labor Day, I drove up to Orange County again to see my friend who had just moved to San Clemente. And in between it all, I was blessed with occasional visitors in San Diego. 

I had been meaning to plan a trip back up to the Bay Area; nearly half of my college roommates are living up there. I knew I was going to go before I moved to New York, but with my restaurant schedule being opposite my full-time working friends in SF, the logistics seemed like a nightmare. So, after seeing my magical weekend off on the schedule, my flight to SF was booked within the hour. The flight was cheap enough, yes—only a night’s worth of tips—but honestly, I would’ve booked it no matter the cost. Long distance friendships are always worth the trip, especially when the girls I used to see every day and share every detail with are miles away, with in-person visits being too few and far between. 

We always talk about the next time we’re going to see each other, and even though planning and coordinating and requesting days off work is always a headache, I’d rather take that and an aspirin over letting such a precious connection fall slowly away. I’ve noticed a common thing we see older girls doing—other friend groups that graduated before us—is planning one-year, two-year, however-many-year reunions in the form of a girls’ trip. And isn’t that just beautiful? Let’s agree to meet back up at least once a year, but why not make it a whole thing?  See a new place, see all your best friends, cough up a couple hundred bucks that we’ll make back, rack up new experiences, and most importantly: spend quality time together. For the people I love, time and money is no object. That may be a young and naive thing to say, but I hope I never grow out of it.

There is no excuse as good as friendship to book that trip.