Sometimes three minute conversations are perfect, like tonight at dinner when my Papa Leslie and Aunt Debbie were able to join both me, Big Nanny and Papa Jack. I asked how Papa was doing, how he liked the ribs and later after studying for an hour I helped him out to the car asking him if he could call again when we could have dinner together another time.
Sometimes three hour conversations are perfect, like tonight when I talked, got up to date and laughed with Joshua Sands after walking a mile in the neighborhood. I watched the sun set, the neighborhood go to sleep, and my own cellphone battery drain down to the bottom before the conversation was over and still, there were still thirty good minutes left.
Sometimes it takes three long paragraphs to be the perfect conversation, like when I wrote a reply back to Natalie at the Brody School of Medicine about trying to find out if I want to be a doctor, why I’m really not sure, and how much I appreciate her talking with me.
And then sometimes it takes three years to get up the perfect conversation, like tonight when I was able to read the reply of a sweet friend who I haven’t talked with in just that long. Unlike the three minute conversations that can’t go over that extra minute, and that three hour conversation that wouldn’t really last that extra hour and unlike that three paragraph conversation that has to fit inside a decent-sized e-mail, the great thing about three year conversations is they have a whole year to finish up.
Sometimes three minutes are perfect, sometimes three hours, and then sometimes the perfect length is right at three paragraphs. Whether its three years or three words, the perfect conversations all have their own lengths. And they always have that perfect person to share them with.