04/02/2025
I love being a friend
My best friend of twenty-three years Is on the other end of the phone sobbing. It is 2 am and I am downstairs whispering, to not wake anyone one up. If she were here I would hug her, as it is I am trying to hug her down the phone line as I just sit and listen to the end of her marriage.
This isn't our first, or probably last, painful call and in that moment I was struck by a profound realization.
Being her friend wasn't just something I was doing. It was something I was receiving.
At fifty, I've come to understand something that my younger self couldn't fully grasp. We often express gratitude for having friends, but the true privilegeâthe real giftâis being able to be a friend.
There's something sacred about being the person someone calls in the middle of the night when their world is crumbling.
Something precious about being trusted with someone's heartbreak, their fears, their unfiltered thoughts.
Something profound about being the shoulder they choose to cry on, the ear they want to hear their stories, the heart they trust with their vulnerability.
I've stood beside my friend as she buried her mother. Held her hand as she waited for biopsy results. Celebrated when her son graduated from high school. Listened when her marriage hit rocky ground. Laughed until we cried over memories only we share. These weren't burdensâthey were privileges.
When my best friend's husband left suddenly, I didn't think twice about showing up on her doorstep with groceries and wine. I stayed for three days, helping her navigate the initial shock. Later, she told me those days were what kept her from falling apart completely. What she didn't understand was how much it meant to me that I could be that person for her.
There's a unique joy in being needed, in being useful, in being trusted. In knowing that your presence matters to someone you care about deeply.
When my children were young, I had friends who showed up with meals when I was overwhelmed, who took my kids for playdates when I needed a break, who listened without judgment when I confessed my parenting insecurities. I was grateful then for what they gave me. But now, years later, I realize that the opportunity to do the same for them was an equally precious gift.
Being the friend who drives three hours to sit in a hospital waiting room. Being the friend who remembers birthdays and anniversaries and difficult dates. Being the friend who knows when to push and when to just listen.
These aren't obligationsâthey're opportunities to practice the most profound form of human connection.
A friend recently thanked me for "always being there," and I almost laughed. Doesn't she understand? Being allowed into her life, being trusted with her story, being chosen as her confidanteâthese are gifts she has given me, not the other way around.
At fifty, I've accumulated enough life experience to know that we're not meant to travel through this world alone. We need community, connection, companionship.
But what I understand now that I didn't fully grasp in my younger years is that being needed is as essential as needing others.
When we're young, friendship often feels like something that happens around the edges of lifeâbetween classes, after work, on weekends. But as we age, as life grows more complex, friendship becomes the foundation that holds everything else together.
It's a profound privilege to walk alongside someone through the decades, to witness their story unfold, to hold space for their growth and struggles and triumphs. To be trusted with their secrets, their insecurities, their dreams.
So yes, I am grateful for my friends. But more than that, I am grateful for the opportunity to be a friend. To show up. To listen. To remember. To witness. To celebrate. To comfort.
Being someone's friend isn't something we doâit's something we're allowed to be. It is a gift life has given us.
