Making A Connection
Friendship…
It’s a word that gets thrown around pretty loosely.
In ways that include a wide range of people.
From Facebook “pals” to the faces at work.
But what about true friends…
How many humans really understand you? Or even care to try?
How many do you fully let in?
What’s the number of people you could tell everything to…
Or depend on in your lowest moment?
If we’re being honest with ourselves…for most of us, the list is short.
So…
Just how valuable is a true friend?
I’m really asking.
If you sat down to answer that question with actual words…
What might you say?
Because no measuring device exists for such things.
We can’t walk into a store and hand over money in exchange for a deep and genuine friendship.
So…
What is it worth to you?
This week, I lost one of the few true friends I have. Or, I guess, had. And, lately, I’ve gotten more and more reminders of how precious it is to have a real buddy in this world.
I bumped into Clint a decade ago. Randomly. Hadn’t seen him in years. But I snuck over, plopped down on the chair next to him, and smacked him on the back. Hard. He responded with a smile so big…and a hug so welcoming…that I immediately felt like a moron for losing touch.
What was wrong with me?
Well, I guess like people sometimes do…I just took a potentially great friendship for granted. Certainly wasn’t the first time.
We sat there for a while, eagerly catching up. Both pretty excited to see each other. But, as is often the case with men, the conversation didn’t stray beyond “regular” stuff. Y’know…the safe topics. Like jobs, relationships, and the latest in world events. A Batman sequel was in theaters and Manny Pacquiao was knocking opponents out in spectacular fashion. So we yammered on about that kind of crap. But it’s all just neanderthal for, “Hey man, I really missed seeing you.” Dudes don’t exactly look each other in the eyes and express gentle sentiments. We mutter that stuff in code.
Anyway…it was great to see the guy. As always, he seemed like the kind of person I could’ve been great friends with in another life. Or a less busy one. And, hey, maybe I’d run into him again in a few years.
Then, as we said goodbye, Clint invited me to a holiday party at his house that weekend.
Look, I always liked the dude. But I couldn’t even remember his wife’s name. A party at his house? Nah. I’m just not the type who knocks on someone’s door during the holiday season to hang out with a group of people I don’t know. But here’s the thing…Clint was that type. And, for a friendship to grow, someone has to be the person who initiates a first hangout. Otherwise, duds like me would just amass a collection of acquaintances forever.
So I went to the damn party. Begrudgingly.
And only because it was such a warm invite.
I knew this guy was friendly. But, man, as soon as I walked in the door…he was eager to pop the cork off the bottle in my hand. And not for the booze. It seemed genuinely important to him that we toast this occasion together. As he led me through the house, introducing me to friends and family, it dawned on me just how happy he was that I was there. It actually mattered to him. Oh, and after that first toast and hug, I’d never forget Parisa’s name again. She wasn’t as outgoing as Clint but was every bit as kind. Meanwhile, my brain was still trying to process how legitimately thrilled this dude was. I mean, I probably would have been at home in my underwear watching Turner & Hooch. Instead, I don’t think the smile left my face even once for hours. Honestly, the guy was as warm and welcoming as anyone I’d ever seen. He was just so giddy to share his house with the people he cared about. His cup was overflowing. And it made all of us feel high on life too.
I remember a long table with a mountain of food in his backyard. Plenty of grub for all of us. But, suddenly, Clint realized that nobody there had ever tried his favorite pizza joint. So he picked up the phone. And when the owner made it his last delivery of the night, Clint asked him to stay and join the party.
That’s the kind of person my friend was.
And, of course, the pizza guy stayed. There was simply no way to resist Clint’s enthusiasm and heart. I could tell you some happy stories about how we became close friends in the years following that night. All the backyard parties and laughter we shared. Or I could recite the heartbreaking tale of how his life changed instantly on one seemingly average day. But then I’d have to explain how hard it was to watch him lose the gift of good health. I’d need to remember how the most social, welcoming person I’ve ever known grew increasingly isolated. And then I’d probably start seeing images of a house that overflowed with such good times becoming a very quiet place.
So I don’t particularly feel like talking about any of that. Instead, what I want to say is this…
Clint was undoubtedly a better friend to me than I was to him. I only have a handful of true friends left in my life. But all of them were once strangers. So, if you have an acquaintance who you think might have true friend potential…
Maybe just see if they want to hang out sometime.
You never know. Something special might be around the corner.
