There were first friends. I’ll always remember that as children we played and chased and dressed up and imagined entire worlds within the confines of our backyards. Our adult lives may have led us afar, but the ways our childhoods overlapped will always mean ever so much to me, Sara and Suzy and Kim and Kelley and Rebecca and Shannon.

Many of my dearest go back to high school, an all girl’s school in Northern California, where I was a transfer student and could have perished from loneliness. But thankfully friends who had already forged friendships going back to middle school let me in on the fierce bonds that can form while we were writing essays and competing at our chosen sports and telling each other every thought, dream, and hope we had for what our future college lives and careers would be like. Boys weren’t really in the picture yet. Or, they were passing fixations. (That is except for not one, but TWO high school girlfriends who married their junior year Winter Formal dates and are having baby girls back-to-back. I told you, the Casti bonds run deep.)

But for a few years we were each other’s most important relationships, safely cocooned around the circle, wearing our uniforms, participating in the daily chaos and charm that is a teenage girl’s life, saying the silly things we still repeat to each other to this day, and thankfully commemorating many of these moments on real, deal film. This means you, Laura and Kendra and Katie and Kimmy and Jess and Keri and Lanli and Lindsay and Lynsey and Lauren. And, of course, Sara. And before the Casti girls, I had Whit and Kor and this means you girls, too.

When I moved to Boston for college, I might have taken the close-knit support system I stumbled upon in high school for granted. It wasn’t as easy to find ten people who understood me. I made a few close friends who grew up far from the place I did. I also learned the hard way that loyalty could easily turn on a misunderstanding, especially when you didn’t have years of history to substantiate who you really were. Thankfully, your true friends are the ones still standing when the confusion clears. That means you, Yabome and Lia and Jane and sweet Tor.

After Boston, I moved to New York to make my way in magazine publishing and figure out what life would be like now that it was finally starting in the place I’d dreamed it would since I was fifteen. My mom (who always modeled what female friendship could mean) took me to Manhattan with my cousin, Anne, who counts as the girlfriend I’ve known the longest (from Maryland to California to Brooklyn to Memphis to New Jersey to Italy), and I still remember that as we walked those streets, I looked up more than I ever had and marveled at all the life going on up there and how I wanted to join those heights.

When I was finally ensconced in high-rise apartments and offices and street-level night life, life started all right, and seemed to stall and then accelerate and then surprise in the ways only an energy like New York’s can. But I have a strong suspicion even a place as magical as Manhattan would have fallen flat if it hadn’t been for you, VF best bud Lindsay and bestie Yabome (again, thank G), and fellow seeker of adventure, Whitney.

When it was time to head back to the comforts of California and the new sides of her I would soon meet in San Francisco, I had a serious partner for all of it. That means you, Becky. For two years, we traveled to and from each other’s first and second SF apartments and wherever else our mid-twenties curiosities took us.

Along the way, we gathered such an incredible troop (occasionally frequented by the other Bucha with the mostest) that I knew lightning was striking again. I had another support system.

That means you, Angie and Mullen (and all the Jens) and Laura Lee and Yabome (again) and Lindsey and Gina and Sky and Jocelyn and Liz. And Cindy and Myryah, a duo of support and love all their own. And Tiffany and Ana and Emily B. and Courtney, too.

And Suzy/Suzer/Snoozer, my roommate of three years and generator of one of the longest list of laughs ever committed to print.

Over my seven years in San Francisco, I also realized that my cousins were just as much my girlfriends as anyone else. Plus, we all look uncannily alike, the majority of us share a last name, and we made it a priority to plan cousin nights for ’90s dance parties, dinners out, and many a birthday celebration. That, of course, means you, Christina and Angela and Ginger!!! And I’ve got to give an East Coast cousin shout out to Rachel and Edelen and Christine and Anne again, too.

Meanwhile, I got to work at a magazine with incredible women who were not only friends but writers and lunch dates and confidantes and carpoolers and saviors–and are to this day. That means you, Emily and Lindsay (you are truly the sisters I never had). And I learned from all of you, Courtney and Jess and Jessica and Stefanie and Elsie and Lisa and Lena.

As I did from many a PR girl date with Jilliann and Katya and Danielle.

And then there’s Jaime, in a class all her own because we survived together. She is my role model for writing, for motherhood, and for sticking up for yourself. (As is Jane.)

For a little while, I cheated on San Francisco with Oakland, driving back and forth every day in order to earn my Master’s degree. While I didn’t have as much time to nurture those friendships, I feel lucky that so many took root and have continued to delight as we all move on in the world, writing our way. That means you, Mary and Honora and Elsa and Jackie and Lauren and Lisen and Michelle and Shay and Zoe.

Now, I live in Santiago. All of these incredible women are many thousands of miles away. But thanks to technology, that doesn’t mean I can’t see their beautiful faces when we chat live or watch their babies grow up or reach out over chat or email when the distance feels particularly far (as I did with Laura and Kendra this week) and hear about the ways life is treating so many of my dear ones so well. Then I got the always lovely surprise of a penpal letter from Laura Lee and real snail mail from Emily! And last night, I had a skype date. My girlfriend Angie was celebrating her birthday in style and agreed to post her laptop on the bar, so that I could say hey to all of our incredible friends back in San Francisco. But technology, as we know, is not fool proof. One of the microphones didn’t work, leaving them a mute mass of smiles. At least I still got to see her face and wave hello and her boyfriend put in so much effort to make it happen that I still felt loved and missed as much as I love and miss them. These moments of connection, even when they don’t necessarily succeed, all still count, especially from very far away.

Thankfully, when I power down the computer, I am fortunate to have new girlfriends right here in my new city. Santiago wouldn’t have been nearly as soft a place to land if it weren’t for you, Amanda and Kylie and Ashley and Kirsten and Lydia and Heather and Marie and Emily and Kyle and Julie and Eileen and Sarah.

Thank you, ladies, one and all. Life wouldn’t be nearly as wonderful without each and every one of you impressing me every day with your sensational personalities and awe-inspiring talents and generous spirits. If I am anything, I am always a friend to you.