Leonard Nimoy in Star Trek (2009)

You know how a conversation with an old friend always seems so easy? There’s a certain fluency that we long for, in that effortless social space where being friends isn’t hard work but just is. As we find ourselves scattered across the globe, our relationships mediated by self-serving Facebook posts, random tweets, or hurried holiday letters, we long to return to that relaxed moment when we’re all in the same room together, satisfied just to be there, contented and unconstrained because no one has anything to prove. It’s so hard to get back to that space, but sometimes we actually do.

I was in the airport when I heard the sad news that Leonard Nimoy had died. Along with so many other Star Trek fans, I’d been following him on Twitter, aware that he was facing the end of his life with courage and grace. I cannot tell you how touched I was when he offered to be the honorary grandpa of anyone who asked. Thank you, Grandpa! He was such a gracious man, such an inspiration.

My sadness at hearing about Nimoy’s passing quickly became connected to my thoughts about the week ahead: for the first time in several years, I would be traveling to my old home in Wisconsin, where there would be a funeral to attend, a dear friend to comfort, and–after far too long an absence–other friends and former colleagues to see once more.

Life is short, I thought. Better not waste time.

If you are reading this and haven’t heard from me in awhile, you should know that the world surrounds us all with love, and some of that love is going out to you from me. It’s been a long time, and the years have taken many things away, but I am still your friend.