the thread that binds - by Lilian Caylee

This weekend, I celebrated the love between two of my closest friends. I’ve been to enough weddings to know what to expect — and I expected a going-through-the-motions of flower bouquets and his-and-her-drinks and salad forks with butter knives. For several, unforeseeable reasons, the weekend defied all of our collective expectations. The night after the last of the festivities, I found myself marveling at the people I met, at how connected I felt to old friends and new acquaintances. I found that I underestimate, all too often, the people in my orbit. I found that the thread that ran through so many of my most treasured conversations was, surprisingly, something dearer to me than I had previously realized: mental health — depression, or happiness, depending on your persuasion.

This weekend, I celebrated the love between two of my closest friends. I’ve been to enough weddings to know what to expect — and I expected a going-through-the-motions of flower bouquets and his-and-her-drinks and salad forks with butter knives. For several, unforeseeable reasons, the weekend defied all of our collective expectations. The night after the last of the festivities, I found myself marveling at the people I met, at how connected I felt to old friends and new acquaintances. I found that I underestimate, all too often, the people in my orbit. I found that the thread that ran through