I’ve never been a fireworks kinda gal. I have a vague memory of holding a sparkler as a little starter person and being terrified it might burst into flames. When I moved to NYC, the Fourth of July was mostly a hellscape of loud booms that gave my at-the-time cat heart attacks. Rather than colorful explosions in the sky, the city version was deafening explosions in air shafts (thank you, M80s).

One year a music friend and I drove down to DC to visit another music person. Our plan was to go to the National Mall to watch the fireworks show with his hometown pals. He was a Virginia boy who was currently widely known as the drummer of a band that had punctured through to crazy fame. We were staying at his childhood (or rather, I believe teenage-hood) home where his mom still lived. There was a barbecue in the backyard with his mom, sister, and more friends coming by, then we took blankets and gear and drove to the Mall, spread out the stuff, and waited for the light show. Maybe we played pool at a bar later. Throughout it all, the memory I have is how casual and just hangin’-with-the-homies normal the whole weekend was. His mom, sister, and the friends he’d known since … well, since before the world had cracked open and dropped him into stardom, were the paint, the glue, the glitter bringing him to life. Outside of this circle, the intrusion of others—not necessarily other band or music people, but just people who recognized him on the street, etc.—could be jarring. One time I remember a couple coming up and telling him about this really involved dream the guy had had the night before that included him in some bizarro way and the guy thought it was an omen and needed to tell him. Then there’d been a long, awkward pause because what is the proper response to that kind of moment where people feel they know you, but you know them not at all?

So anyway, my memory of that Fourth of July was watching a lot of joy and goofiness go on without safety brakes purely because the circle of support was made up of solid gold people who’d had his back forever. One friend in particular, who he’d known since he was six (and who isn’t on this earth anymore, brought to life in his book in a really excellent way) was so clearly a grounding force that it almost seemed they had their own language. The same appeared to happen with his mom, who had (no doubt still has) the uncanny ability to be standing beside him, supporting him in a way that felt eternal, present, but not intrusive. She was curious about everyone and everything in his life without seeming to have any overriding control or fear. This, to me, seemed just amazing given a very large part of him was on display to the world and watching someone you love be that exposed I would imagine being scary. Yet the tether of trust, love, confidence felt deeply embedded. Mind you, I only had tiny glimpses, so can’t pretend to be speaking about his life overall, but yet that’s what I remember. That day was memorable not for the big boomy stuff going on in the sky, but for the big roomy moments happening in all the hearts. The safety dance.

Who do we feel safe with? Become a version of us that can expand and be seen in all our scariness and need and joy and goofiness? Today is the twelfth anniversary of Dennis and my first date at the Little Red Lighthouse up at the tip of Manhatten. We sat there as the afternoon turned evening and then rode our bikes up a very steep hill (OK, I walked mine, and he walked his, even though he could have ridden since his bike had speeds), then we had dinner and as we got back on our bikes to ride to our separate apartments, he said “I’m sure we’ll see each other again” and I became immensely bummed out. Here’s why: That sentence sounded to me like a total blow-off. A variation of sentiments I’d heard a lot which led to never seeing the person again. And I’d had fun with this guy, so WTF? Why wasn’t he immediately making plans for the next time? And then he called like the next day. And here we are over a decade later still walking our bikes together up that excellent metaphorical hill. I’m crap-ass at delayed gratification (in fact I rarely remember the term and just had to ask Dennis, What’s that thing with the Marshmallow Experiment called? I would have failed it spectacularly).

I do understand though how trusting time and investing in the people we weave our safety net with is crucial so we can succeed and fail and be seen in it all without hiding. Whether they’re across the room, across the next county, across the country, across the globe, to know they’re available when we jump is all the booms I need for the Fourth of July.