What It Means to be a Friend

Eight days before Christmas and I'm comfortably ensconced - if only for a few minutes - on a couch at The Factory, coffee from Honest Coffee Roasters in hand.  I'm surrounded by Christmas trees decorated by various merchants, all of them brightly lit this morning with white or colored lights.  My happy place at my favorite time of the year.  Sometimes I wish it could be mid-December forever.

Lately, I've been thinking about friendship.  What it means to be a friend.  What it means to have a friend.  A true friend.

Like most people, I have more acquaintances than friends.  Acquaintances, to me, are a type of friend, and they're a necessary part of my life.  My personality alone - the way I am wired - requires that I know a lot of people.  What I mean is that, as a classic extrovert, some part of me needs the daily interaction I get at places like Honest Coffee Roasters, Portland Brew, Burger Up, etc. w/people that work there or other regulars.  

Those are people I know and am friendly with but that aren't necessarily my friends.  Depending, I guess, on my definition of friendship.

Friends, to me, are people I share something with.  A cup of coffee or a drink.  A telephone call.  A conversation about our children or our parents.  Someone with whom I discuss what I call matters of the heart.  The good stuff.  The things that matter.

Perhaps because it's the end of the year and a time to reflect and take stock, I've been troubled, recently, by friendships that seem to be slipping away or, at the very least, lying dormant for now.  I'm thinking, in particular, of Doug, of Hal and Kim.  Longtime friends that I've lost my close connection to because of the distance between us - literally and figuratively - and where we are in our lives at the moment.  

A downside to having children late in life is that so many of my peers have raised their children and are no to the next thing.  While I wouldn't trade where Jude and I are with J.P. and Joe for anything and I love our busy life, most of my longtime friends have children in college or out of college.  In truth, we have little in common when it comes to our children.  They have been where I am but I haven't been where they are now.  It's strange but true.

The tradeoff, of course, is that I have made close, new friends that have children the same age as J.P. and Joe, mostly through sports.  Later today, for example, J.P. and I are driving to Georgia, to Serenbe, a resort community outside of Atlanta.  We're going to stay for a few days with my friends, Russ and Susanna, and they're children, Cooper and Ella.  

Just the other day, J.P., Joe and I met my friend, Will, and his son, Benton, at D-bats, so the boys could get a pitching lesson and hit in the cage.  With us was Joe's friend, Preston, from Joe's baseball team.  Preston's dad, Oliver, and I coach together.  I had coffee with Glen earlier this week, who has become a friend.  I coach his stepson, Elijah, in baseball.  

All of those people, and many more, have become my close friends over the past decade, as our boys have grown up together.  And they're all very, very important to me.  We have so much in common.  We've supported each other, in raising our boys and, really, in life.  These people are a constant presence in my life and I am better for that, for sure.

I worry, though, that my connection with, for example, Doug, and Hal and Kim, has weakened.  Doug, in Atlanta, is not the best at returning calls, and that's completely on him.  It's hard for me to stay in touch with him.

Hal and Kim, though, live walking distance from me and still, I rarely see them, and that makes me sad.  They're two of the most talented, interesting people I've ever known.  My life is richer - so much richer - because they have been in it.  The challenge, though, is they don't have children, and I do.  As a result, on occasions too numerous to count, Hal has called about getting a drink or stopping by, and I'm on the way to baseball practice, basketball practice, or fighting traffic to get home for dinner.  They're at their place on the Buffalo River a lot - I'm jealous - which makes it more challenging to get together, too.

The answer, I guess, is that I've got to plan time, monthly, or semi-monthly, to see people like Hal and Kim.  Coffee.  A bottle of wine in their back yard.  Something.  Anything.  Doug.  Hal and Kim.  Others.  

I've got more to say about this, later, and more to think about, as well.  For now, thought, The Factory is filling up with people, which is my signal it's time to get going, time to move on.  

Clients to call before I head out of town.  Loose ends to tie up.  Errands to run.