It’s Monday morning after a flawless weekend; you know the type.

One of those Monday mornings where we’re texting our new friends and reliving memories and telling inside jokes and making playlists and promising to stay friends forever.

It’s been the same since the first Monday morning after teen camp, back when we were in youth group.

In our church days, we called them “mountaintop experiences”. And holy crap that phrase makes me cringe now, but in our defense we did LITERALLY climb to the top of a mountain on Saturday.

Does it ever get any easier, going back to real life?

Does it ever get any easier, picking up the empty wine bottles, getting on a plane, walking back inside your front door to an empty house?

“Welp, we’ve peaked. That’s as good as life’s gonna get,” I always think morosely, as I scroll through Instagram and listen to Justin Bieber.

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“I’ve found my people.”

That’s how I feel afterwards. You feel the same way too. I know, because you write blog posts about it.

Last month I wrote about how hard and terribly lonely it is trying to find your people, and how we mask our craving for intimacy with jokes about Netflix and adulting. And this is true.

But also, I have found my people.

I found them this weekend, on a mountain top in Arkansas.

I found them last month, around a campfire in Minnesota. We made s’mores and drank wine and admitted we were not yet post-delight.

I found them in July, along a river in North Carolina. I swore I wouldn’t leave until God blessed me, and She did.

I found them this spring, at a bar in Portland. We opened our hearts and bawled into our pretentious cocktails and called it the Church of the New Fashioned.

I found them during the winter, on a road trip from one coast to the other.

I keep finding my people over and over again, scattered all over this country.

Do you have any idea how beautiful this is?

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There’s this one story in the Bible, about the original “mountain top experience.”

Jesus and his squad were hanging out on top of a literal mountain (much like me and my squad this weekend) and it got turnt ALL THE WAY UP . There were old dead prophets reappearing, and voices from heaven, and everything.

Saint Peter, always the ring-leader of shenanigans, we like like, “Oh shit. I have found my people! I’mma build some houses here on top of the mountain and we can all be best friends forever.”

But Jesus saith unto him, “Nah, bro. It’s not like that. We have other stuff to do. Just enjoy this amaze moment for what it is.”

I always think of that story on Mondays like today. When I’ve found my people, and want to build some houses on top of the mountain.

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I completely feel Saint Peter.

I often find myself wishing there was a way to pick these flowers, to bottle this magic. To make the memories last a little bit longer than a weekend.

But what I’m learning is that when I find my people, I don’t have to hoard them. I don’t have to build tabernacles, or try to sneak them into my rolling carry-on, or sit around wistfully wishing to stay forever young.

Instead, I can carry our love in my heart as we each go our separate ways, and look forward with curiosity and anticipation to when my people will find me again.

But yeah, I totally made a playlist today.

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During the month of October, I’m joining the Write31Days challenge to talk about 31 Days of Becoming Human. Click here to read all posts in the series.