Lets say you just got divorced. Lets say it feels strange to be out in the world on your own.

Theres this nagging sensation. That you left the burner on, the faucet running, that your bills are overdue. Something just feels generally wrong. Youre in arrears, somehow. Thats what being along feels like after so many years. Lets say you get a dog, a friendly little terrier, which helps. Youre not alone, exactly, as you take your evening walk. Theres still the problem of walking past the row of shops and restaurants by your house, and the dog stopping to sniff the trash cans lined along the sidewalk, the problem of stopping to let the dog do his thing and being arrested there, right in front of the restaurants broad window, being faced with all those people those couples dining in the restaurant. The problem of being alone outside with a dog while other people better people, it seems, people who have managed to keep it together carry on with their lives. Have dinner together. Like people are supposed to. The people look up from their tables, regard you with sympathetic glances, and you wilt. It happens over and over. There is something humiliating about being who you are right now. A woman approaching forty, walking a dog, trying to start over. Lets say a woman, a pretty server about your age, starts coming out of the restaurant to greet your dog. She just leaves her tables her fussy patrons sitting there and comes out in the cold to greet you. Your dog goes crazy for her, licks her face, and she doesnt shy away from him, like most people do. She doesnt do that thing with her posture, like: Dont get too close. Please observe the limits of polite society. You notice that she always has a treat in her apron for your dog. Something she makes at home for her dogs. There are people who make their own dog treats, you realize. There are people who care that much. You notice that her patrons stare out the window, now, with expressions of envy moreso than superiority. Here is real affection, here is real laughter, here is freedom of expression, here is life being lived, instead of the polite chatter, the upscale droning, at those tables. This happens over and over, the scene with the dog and the server. Youre fascinated by her. How friendly she is, how open. The way she has with animals and you soon notice with people. Shes a caretaker. Shes a lover. It makes you happy to be around her. Just that minute or two a day, it makes a difference. It makes you feel like people might be okay, like you might be okay, like life might be okay again, someday. There might be a few people left in the world, you think, a few good people left. Finally you get up the nerve to ask the server for her name. She hands you her card, which is artful and oversized and on which is printed a quote about holding tight and letting go the back and forth between them that is life. You ask her if she might be able to watch your dog while youre away visiting your sister and her new twins. This is going too far, you sense asking a stranger for a favor like that. Its not really something she does watch other peoples dogs but shell do it. You arrange to drop off your dog on Christmas Eve.

When you arrive at her house you see that it is a carefully curated museum. On every surface some small treasure. Something precious rescued from oblivion. You sense that each of these objects these curios has a story. Has meaning. Unlike those mass-produced bits of dcor on the walls and mantles of every house in every suburb youve ever been in. This house is different. This house is alive in a way that other homes arent. You meet her dogs houndy, shaggy, ebullient, right out of central casting. By the time you get all the way back to the kitchen you see that the server has, gathered around her table, several friends, enjoying an elaborate dinner. Music, laughter. You have that pang again. Like everyone else is living life. Very casually, very naturally. But still its something foreign to you, something you cant manage, cant remember how to do. Something youve been shut out of. But soon enough youll be one of those friends, gathered around that same table. In six months time it will be you sitting there. And youll remember what it was like, all that time ago it seems like years already before you were welcomed back into the fold of humanity again. Before you were rescued. Youre one of those objects, now. Something she picked up and dusted off, salvaged. You feel at home, now. She has made you feel at home in the world again. This is my friend. This is Amy Michel. Should you be fortunate enough to read this, you must know her. She must have chosen you. You might have some sneaking sense already of how lucky you are. And you might be skeptical wondering if its all too good to be true. But the truth is, it just gets better. You just get luckier. This is a person who affirms life, in everything she does. This is someone that rare someone who still has a spark left. And, rarer still, someone who will share it with you. If life is indeed a back and forth between holding tight and letting go between knowing what will sink you and knowing what will save you - you cannot possibly do better than to hold on tight to this person. Please be good to her.