“The loneliest moment in someone’s life is when they are watching their whole world fall apart, and all they can do is stare blankly.”
― F. Scott Fitzgerald
I pretended I was not myself during the time of my mid twenties. The country was already stuffed with returnees and I wanted to be different. A third culture adult – that was the identify I had clung to.
Life then was affordable, when I still made a London salary. I began to frequent high-end bars and hotels, usually by myself and occasionally with the intention of seducing women. Mostly though, it was a suited fantasy so I could play pretend so that I would not be me.
Those the days of my youth but I was never young. I was working a lot and punching 10 years beyond my weight class, and held a pretty elaborate title – actually I had several titles, one for each floor. I used to hustle all the way from reception into the boardroom and basked in the satisfaction that I could talk my way through any door. There was something exhilarating about donning a persona. Liberating, shameless, guilt-free. But the truth is, I had no fucking clue what I was doing. Only a few years ago I was graduating with a passing grade from undergrad, with a degree that was interesting in concept, but not that practical. I wondered how often people could tell that I was faking it.
All of this came back to me as I lay in darkness. Hollow but content – those were the days. I suppose what tugged at me was the fact that I had made no genuine connections in all that time, in what was supposed to be the best decade of your life, and that as I lay crumbling, my life was nevertheless validated in the most surprising way. My phone stuffed with the contact of kings and the combined weight of their gilded lives were not worth of a squeeze on a hand, the hours of conversation, the efforts a few friends took to come and see me.
People are what gives life meaning. I had learned. People.
And so I envisioned a life liberated from loneliness because there’d be a small group of friends to give it meaning – people with whom we share such a complete trust and intimacy that they have become a curious blend of siblings and lovers and family – they’ve become the default in our lives. It’s not just about physical companionship – that they might decide to come over for dinner and hangout on the couch and share our whiskey and our wine and sleep in our room as naturally as we’ve shared their home. There’s something spiritual, transcendental to this friendship.
They are the people whose respect and faith in us, in our character, is unconditional – with whom we share our mistakes, our weaknesses, our sorrows, and our most embarrassing imperfect selves and never have to fear judgment. We never have to impress them, because we know the constancy of their friendship is already the most sincere endorsement of who we are.
They are also the people from whom we expect the bluntest feedback because we know they want us to be our best selves. We never need to be defensive. They reassure us of who we are, remind us of who we want to be, and inspire us and work with us to be our best selves.
These are the people with whom we share our joys, our successes, our triumphs. The brightest moments of our lives are so because they share it with us. These are the people who remain when things have fallen apart and we’re at our worst, and they’re there to catch us if we fall.
Our commitment to them and they’re to ours is lifelong – and what’s most consoling of all, is that these are not relationships arising from proximity and convenience, but some deeper, effortful recognition of each other.
#00117F 