Throughout the years, I’ve had my share of roommates. From my first roommate, Rachel, who was assigned to me freshman year (ehh - not the best match) to a couple of love interests (apparently, neither was the best match either) and many in-between, there are plenty of stories to be told. But, perhaps my favorite roommate of all was never formally my roommate. Though we never signed a lease together or shared an apartment, Emily and I seem to have become roommates for life.

We met right after college - at our first “real” jobs. As auditors at a Big Four accounting firm, we joke (not really) that we were so relieved when we were asked to make copies (for hours on end), because we knew how to do that (so much for college teaching you what you need to know, right?). We were finding our way - two small town girls making good in the big city.

Living paycheck to paycheck, we were experiencing adulthood, freedom and mistakes - together. From bathroom “interventions” over ill-suited boyfriends to job woes, there became a caring honesty that isn’t always present in most friendships. A shorthand of sorts.

As we got to know each other and our friendship strengthened, we also went our separate ways - me to law school and, then after I moved back, Emily to California for a couple years. Between trips back and forth and many different vacation spots - Vegas, Utah, Africa, St. Thomas, you name it, - and training for an Ironman together, our roommate status was solidified, and the stories grew. We’d stay out late and stay up even later talking. And, finally, after sleeping in, it was ponytails and baseball caps down at the local coffee shop. In fact, during one trip to Austin, when we were rolling out of bed to get coffee after a late night, another friend quipped to her boyfriend on the phone, “These girls don’t even shower before they go out for breakfast.”

With Emily, there was more than one occasion where we’d go for breakfast and coffee after a morning run, only to be sitting in the same chairs by the time lunch rolled around a few hours later. So, we’d have lunch.

It’s times like these - and the time that Emily sprained both wrists snowboarding and couldn’t even open a door or the time after my father died - that roommate is more a state of mind than a location or sharing a lease. With your roommate, you can talk incessantly or not at all. You can disagree, but never disengage.

The term “roommate” really describes a set of shared experiences - whether they are in a tiny apartment in Chicago or in a tent on Mt. Kilimanjaro - and a shared sense of being. It has a connotation or implies a certain kind of connection that means something different, and perhaps more, than friends. So, to Emily, thanks, roomie!