On Saturday, I drove up to Riverside, New Jersey – a quaint, pseudo-industrial, modestly unassuming little town, to attend the baby shower of one my dearest friends, Melissa, whom I had the fortune of meeting and studying abroad with in Rome, Italy, and nurturing a heartfelt friendship with over a span of three years. The drive was reflective – somber at times, elated at other points, but overall – excited. I was hesitant about making this long trip across at least four state lines by myself. But I was glad I did. I don’t know what it is about driving long distances – alone – that makes your mind meander. Against the music reverberating, your mind tends to follow the mood set by the song blasting loudly, as your eyes follow the long stretch of tar, pavement, and cars in front of you.

After exactly four hours of driving and thinking, I realized I was mesmerized by a whole slew of vastly changing scenery as I crossed from state-to-state – the cultural hot pot and sports fandom within the brick confines and geometrical sharp turns of Baltimore to the quiet winding roads surrounded by rolling hills, farmers’ markets, and lawn-mowers on every lawn within Delaware. Even as I sat on a single lane highway – which my sadistic GPS led me to on a wild detour – backed up in traffic because of a minor accident, I couldn’t help the giddiness that washed over me. “I’m in a different state. Alone. With no agenda,” I mused to myself. I hadn’t felt that free in a long time. Free of obligations, decisions, predictability. I was one with the road that wound in front of me.

My evening catching up with Melissa over dinner at The Pop Shop – the alleged Bobby Flay grilled cheese throwdown locale – involved entrenching myself in the past few years of our evolved friendship for fear of all the time that would again elapse after my departure. I wanted to soak her in, intoxicate myself with her, before I left. Her story about the changes of her life nearly brought me to tears – joyous. The girl that I used to walk past ‘guidos’ on the way to class with, fatten ourselves with mounds of gelato everyday with, sequester ourselves from our crazy housemates with, get lost in the streets of Rome and get stuck on a random foreign street corner with, the one I slowly began to see develop into a feisty feline with a penchant for drinking Sex on the Beach – became a woman, three centimeters dilated, a little bit weary after hours of talking.

It dawned on me the drastic changes that can occur in the brusque flip of a switch. Unpredictable, life changes and moves before us; minute and grave decisions, people we meet, changing friends that slowly reflect our new life transitions, and the chemistry that unfolds within those wrinkles of time shape us to become totally different people, within the span of a year – or even the blink of an eye. I once believed that people don’t change; at least deep down to the core, they don’t. But now I think that your core can change, and the scope of your predispositions, tastes, penchants, and perceptions evolve enormously. I’ve changed just as much as she has, if not more. I’ve matured, become less timid, and more forgiving.

Because of her pregnancy and the exhaustion that overcame her frequently, she seemed more subdued and thoughtful. More resolute in her beliefs. As our long conversation that moved us from her living room to the kitchen of their apartment came to a slow stop, she finally excused herself from our night in, apologizing profusely. I was more than happy to let her rest, made myself comfortable on her soft couch, and humored myself with what was on television. She excused herself and disappeared into her bedroom; instead of silence, I heard the dull drone of a television program and soft conversation with her fiance. It then dawned on me how drastically we had diverged – not in friendship but in our life stages. Her source of respite came from her boyfriend of over two years. He was the one she could count on to mend a long night of entertaining, the one she could fall asleep next to, weary over an impending baby shower of friends and family.

The next morning, I awoke to the sound of eggs frying and bacon slices sizzling on a pan. The aroma that filled the house was robust of oil, salt, and butter. I was more or less surprised at how much of a wife she had become, as her boyfriend and I readied ourselves at the kitchen table, our mouths drooling with anticipation. Her boyfriend softly murmured that he wanted a breakfast sandwich instead of just eggs, while I asked for toast, bacon, and eggs. I called her breakfast “Breakfast Classico” and was floored at how New Jersey was the preservation grounds for the Concord jelly-margarine-toast combination I grew up with since childhood; it had been a long time, having her cook for me – only this time on American soil with a boy on the way. Following the previous night and into the morning as we busied ourselves getting ready for the baby shower, yelling across the stairwell about our outfits, it became more apparent than ever, our diverged paths as women. I was at the most selfish point of my life, while she was just entering the most selfless stage. I busied myself with describing my favorite makeup shades to her, wishing I had picked up another set for her, while she was probably ruminating over the baby products she forgot to register at Toys ‘R Us.

On my drive back to the decadence of northern Virginia – which I ashamedly came to miss – I thought about how much I took for granted, and how different life can seem at different parts of the country, at different stages of our lives. While girls in New Jersey worry about where or how to start their careers due to a limited supply of jobs, they find comfort in long-term – though not always successful – relationships. Options are fewer, and settling down seems a convenient option. Here, careers are aplenty, people are aplenty, options are a plethora, and settling down seems to be a last-ditch option – if not an object of lust for many who aren’t yet settled down deep into their late twenties. Because of their choosing power, people are more indecisive and self-absorbed here. Regions dictate what you value in life.

No matter what, though, I tend to believe that our friendship will override changes and long distance; that we’ll still have the same chemistry, a decade later, and laugh over the same things; agree on the same few topics; enjoy the same taste of cannoli oozing with frozen ricotta, and that our conversations will never skip a beat. Maybe one day, our paths will straighten and run parallel again, like the way they once did in Italy.