There is a theory I came across recently that has stayed with me since Sunday as we were driving back from a weekend in New York.
It is called the train theory.
The idea is simple: life is a train ride.
People get on at different stops. Some sit beside us for years. Some are there for only a short stretch. Some move to another car. Some get off quietly, and sometimes we do not even realize they are gone until we look around and notice the seat is empty.
And then there are the people who somehow stay.
Through moves. Through marriages. Through children. Through careers. Through illness. Through reinvention. Through all the versions of ourselves we become along the way.
The older I get, the more I understand how true this is.
Especially now.
Moving to Newport meant starting over again.
New town. New routines. New faces. New places to learn. New grocery store aisles, new favorite restaurants, new roads, new rhythms.
On paper, starting over can sound exciting.
And parts of it are.
But what people do not always talk about is the loneliness that can come with it.
This summer was hard for me.
There were days when I felt incredibly empty and alone. I missed familiarity. I missed being somewhere where people knew me before I had to explain myself. I missed the easy friendships that do not require planning because your lives are already woven together.
I am still learning this new life.
Some days I love it.
Other days, it hits me harder than I expect.
Recently, though, I had the chance to see so many old friends again.
And there was something incredibly comforting about it.
The hugs. The laughter. The way conversations picked up without effort. The people who seemed genuinely happy to see us. The feeling of stepping back into a place and realizing that some things had not changed nearly as much as I feared they had.
It reminded me that distance does not always mean disconnection.
Some people stay on your train even when they are no longer sitting right beside you.
They may live hours away. You may go weeks without talking. Life gets busy. Children grow up. Careers change. People move.
I do not think friendship requires constant communication.
But I have learned that it does require intention.
A text.
A phone call.
A “thinking about you.”
A “how are you really doing?”
A simple hello.
You do not have to check in every day to remind someone that you are still riding with them.
But every once in a while, you have to let them know you are still there.
And then there are the people who get off.
That part is harder.
Some leave slowly.
The calls become less frequent. The texts stop. Invitations disappear. You realize at some point that you are always the one reaching out, and eventually you stop reaching.
Others leave suddenly.
And sometimes there is no fight, no dramatic ending, no explanation at all.
Just distance.
I have learned that how much that hurts depends greatly on where someone was sitting on my train.
Not every friendship holds the same place in our lives.
There are people we enjoy.
There are people we love.
And then there are people we trust with the softest parts of ourselves.
When someone from the outer circle drifts away, you may notice.
When someone from the inner circle does, you feel it.
Deeply.
I used to think every friendship that ended meant something had gone wrong.
I do not believe that anymore.
I think some people really are seasonal.
We hear that phrase all the time: people come into your life for a reason, a season, or a lifetime.
It sounds cliché until you live long enough to understand it.
Some people arrive exactly when you need them.
They teach you something.
They make you laugh during a difficult time.
They stand beside you during a particular chapter.
They introduce you to a new part of yourself.
And then life changes.
Maybe they change.
Maybe you do.
Maybe both of you do.
That does not necessarily erase what was good.
I can look back at people who are no longer in my life and still be grateful they were once there.
That has taken me time to learn.
You can appreciate what someone gave you without pretending it did not hurt when they left.
You can miss someone and still understand that the friendship may have run its course.
You can love someone and realize they no longer know how to love you in the way you need.
And perhaps most importantly, you can stop chasing people who have already decided to get off.
That one has been harder for me.
Because when I care about people, I care deeply.
I remember birthdays. I check in. I wonder how they are doing. I hold on.
But life has taught me something else too.
The people who truly love you usually find a way to remind you.
Not perfectly.
Not constantly.
But enough.
They notice when you disappear a little.
They ask how the move is going.
They know that the smiling photographs do not always tell the whole story.
They understand that starting over can be exciting and heartbreaking at the same time.
And they reach out.
Those are the people I appreciate more now than I ever have.
The friends who stayed in touch.
The ones who did not assume I was fine simply because I was somewhere beautiful.
The ones who made room for me even when geography changed.
And the ones I recently stood in front of again and realized, almost immediately, that the miles had not changed us at all.
Maybe that is what this season of my life is teaching me.
Starting over does not mean leaving everything behind.
Some things come with you.
Some friendships do, too.
Others do not.
And while I may never become completely comfortable with people leaving my train, I am learning not to measure my worth by who gets off.
I would rather look around and notice who is still here.
The ones who have moved seats but never really left.
The ones who joined recently and are becoming part of this new life.
The ones who have been riding beside me for decades.
And even the ones who were only there for a few stops.
Because every person leaves something behind.
A lesson.
A memory.
A laugh.
A warning.
A piece of wisdom.
A version of ourselves we may never have discovered without them.
That may be the gift in all of it.
We do not get to decide how long everyone stays.
But we do get to decide how grateful we are that they came along at all.
And for the people still riding with me?
I hope they know how much I notice.
How much I appreciate the call, the text, the check-in, the effort.
Especially now.
Because I am still learning my way around this new stop.
And some days, knowing someone familiar is still on the train makes all the difference.
Table Talk
Who is still riding with you?
And is there someone you have not checked on lately who may need to know you are still there?
