Solo

A friend told me about a recent conversation he had with his therapist. The therapist asked him if he had any friends. Of course he did, he explained. Then the therapist asked if he spent any time with his friends. "I have a wife and kids," he said. "Who has time for friends?"

This newsletter comes from a place of peace and gratitude. So in the spirit of this holiday season, allow me to write a few words about friendship, particularly adult friendships.

Besides Jill, my wife, I have only a few friends. Of course, I have many people around me whom I'm friendly with, acquaintances, coworkers, neighbors. But ask me to list my actual friends, and I could do it on a Post-It note.

Oldest friend- Through middle and high school, this friend was by my side constantly. I spent most days at his house watching MTV, playing baseball, talking about girls and working on cars. After high school and during college, we found it easy to make time together. Today, even though he lives 30 minutes away, our conversations consist of a few text messages a month and maybe lunch together twice a year. We're both married, we have small kids and demanding careers, and honestly not much to talk about besides work or the old days. But love sustains.

Work friends- These are the people I've met at work that through either constant contact, a friendship was inevitable, or through a more organic process of shared interests and a sense of humor, a friendship grew the traditional way, easily and with good chemistry. Also, I met Jill at work, and her friends then became mine, and a group was formed that goes out to large dinners, concerts, camping trips, and holiday parties. My text messages are filled with conversations with these people. These are the people I visit more frequently and consistently, and by that I mean once every couple months. The friend with the therapist falls into this group. Also, none of these people know about this newsletter.

Newest friend- I've only spent a few days with Mat, my fishing guide, but our conversations quickly diverted from rainbow trout to more personal topics like art, family, and creative aspirations. Maybe his tendency to be supportive and encouraging makes him a good fishing guide, but it also makes it easy to share my thoughts. It is not hard to imagine his fishing boat as a therapist's couch. He is on a very short list of non-work friends, which makes it even more special. He is also the only friend who knows about this newsletter.

As I get older, I've become less interested in making new friends. I'm more self-reliant, more secure, more concerned with my home and the people in it than I am about convincing the cool kids to let me sit with them at lunch time. I feel obligated to nurture certain work friendships, maybe selfishly to maintain a professional presence. It is hard to predict which friendships will survive after I retire. I'd like to say they all will survive, but I doubt it.

In two weeks, I'll drive 3 1/2 hours to Yosemite National Park for a camping trip. Originally, I planned on it being a trip with Jill, but she couldn't spare the time away from work and it became a solo trip. I'm reminded of a solo trip I took to Yosemite before we started dating. It was a day trip in June, a lifetime ago. I drove my red 1985 Ford F-250 diesel (R.I.P.), and I climbed the cables on Half Dome. All I remember about the trip was the loneliness I felt at the summit. Everybody around me was with someone else, laughing, resting, taking photos together. I found some stranger to high-five. I didn't soak in the view or relish the small achievement. I set up the tripod, turned the timer on the old DSLR camera, took a selfie, and climbed down. I ran back to my truck and drove home.

This upcoming solo trip is a world away from that selfie on the summit, now a distant memory. That trip was a turning point in my life, and since then, my heart has grown full and my soul is content. Jill and the kids sustain me. Time isn't frozen, as it was on the top of Half Dome that summer day.

Friendship with Jill has given me maturity, purpose, self-reflection and a fair challenge. Through her, I realize the peace and gratitude I search for each day. Today, solo-ness doesn't have the undertone of loneliness. Solo means patience, trust, reflection, and excitement for the homecoming.