Wandering

It is not often that a good book makes me cry. The last time that happend was in 2002. And I'll save that book review for another day. Last night I almost became dehydrated due to Bob Greene's And You Know You Should Be Glad (2006). It is a true story of life-long friendship. It is a story about men in friendship. Wives across America should buy this book, justifying the purchase as a gift for the husband, but then they should curl up and read the book – alone. I say alone because the book is ultimately about companionship and how we experience intimacy with others. And in order to reflect and feel and face the fears that true intimacy reveals, we must be raw. Solitude is usually required to get to that place. And it is easier to cry alone than in the presence of someone that pesters you with "what is the book about?" and you become overwhelmed with trying to convey the depth of feeling articiulated in the book.   

The book is also about death, the loss of a friend that takes with him or her part of our past. Death ultimately exposes what type of friendship you had experienced in the first place – one of utility? one of simple pleasure? Or, one of the highest things which Aristotle advocates in the Ethics.

According to one Aristotle scholar:

A friendship for pleasure comes into being when two people discover that they have common interest in an activity which they can pursue together. Their reciprocal participation in that activity results in greater pleasure for each than either could achieve by acting alone. Thus, for example, two people who enjoy playing tennis might derive pleasure from playing each other. Such a relationship lasts only so long as the pleasure continues.

A friendship grounded on utility, on the other hand, comes into being when two people can benefit in some way by engaging in coordinated activity. In this case, the focus is on what use the two can derive from each other, rather than on any enjoyment they might have. Thus, for example, one person might teach another to play tennis for a fee: the one benefits by learning and the other benefits financially; their relationship is based solely on the mutual utility. A relationship of this sort lasts only so long as its utility.

A friendship for the good, however, comes into being when two people engage in common activities solely for the sake of developing the overall goodness of the other. Here, neither pleasure nor utility are relevant, but the good is. Thus, for example, two people with heart disease might play tennis with each other for the sake of the exercise that contributes to the overall health of both. Since the good is never wholly realized, a friendship of this sort should, in principle, last forever.

According to me, no Aristotle scholar, we do not discuss friendship enough. Until a friend dies, that is. The fact that this book is written by a man and is about his male friends, makes the exposure of friendship in this book all the more poignant. In an age when men are often depicted as doormats, fools and beer-drinking sports fans — this book portrays men as caring and senstive creatures.

I recommend this book. Feel friendship.

The experience is quite universal, I imagine. You wonder who all will be there. You prepare your spouse for odd stories that may be shared that reveal your not-so cool 16-year-old self. You decide a week before the gathering that you want to lose 2 lbs just to feel a tad bit trimmer. You rehearse one or two conversations to fine-tune the status story you will be sharing at least a dozen times by night's end: Moved to DC 5 years ago, met husband at church, married husband in Bethesda, sister is married and pregnant, yes, my folks moved to CO and yes, still in school and not in the real world.

Few had changed dramatically. Most looked better than I thought they would. But most sounded and acted exactly like I remember them. Nathan Kieffer with random stories and somewhat crass humor. Moo, the more silent type, carrying around the beer pitcher amusing himself. Everyone was challenged by the feat of juggling multiple conversations at once — catching up with someone only to be interrupted by someone else with a big hug and a "how long has it been?" kind of question which wastes a few minutes of the precious reuniting time taking stabs at years and numbers.

Bill R who lived down the street from me, escorted me to Riverview elementary school one day in the fifth grade – now married, a pilot, living in Eagan, MN; C. Soto – a whiz in English IB, son of my soccer coach, more mature than most – now married to a lawyer, working on his PhD at Berkley; Ginger Butler – one of the few friends I had in IVF; now married to a man she met in China and working on her PhD at IU. Katie B and I ran around taking pictures just being goofy because we felt like we had permission to be goofy since it was high school again.

The real oddity was seeing people that I had nothing to say to, in part because I couldn't remember their name. The faces that sat three rows behind me in World History, or a face that stood at a locker across the hall from mine on the third floor. I just watched them from a distance the other night, taking more notice of them now than I ever did in high school. It struck me that these nameless people had a story that I never cared to learn about in h.s. but now intrigued me. It was a room full of people with contemporary struggles that were pushed aside for 4 hours to live in the past. 

The past – there is more of it at the closing of each day. More emotions brought to life, more layers placed on my heart for good mostly, some bad. And my high school years are thick with emotions – heartache, insecurities over how I looked or how I was liked in relation to others, thrill of football games and soccer games, such pride in the Lumberjack affiliation, the sense of feeling "cool" – accepted, celebrated and laughed with. And I wonder if I will look back on this current era — single, newly married years with friends from Fourth — with similar nostalgia or if high school is high school and the precious, excruciating transformation that takes place during it can never be compared with any other type of reunion.

Why is it that I can rarely look at a baby now without thinking about how it might fit into my life? Not one to live in the present, I immediately pretend the sleeping 10-inch bundle was mine and list the ways it would change my life. Sometimes for good, sometimes for "bad." Can I handle it? – I ask myself. Can we handle it? – I ask myself as opposed to calling up my husband that very minute and giving him a glimpse of the crazy brain he chose to marry. So after seeing a friend's new baby sleeping soundly in his Greco carrier, I spent the evening as I normally would, except this time I put a mental asterik next to all activities that would likely take a back seat – that is, a seat behind the one with the Greco carrier in it – upon the arrival of a baby. Two things would remain the same: a microwave dinner and taking out the trash. 

I am an unbeliever in many ways. I do not believe God knows best in all things. I believe I do. Really. I put more faith in preparation and planning than I do in prayer. So I am busy learning how to parent when the Lord says – be still. I am busy worrying about change when the Lord says – yesterday, today and forever: I AM. It might be a baby, a job, a death or a move – my fears do not discriminate. Steadfastness is a beautiful word but a stranger to my life. When C.S Lewis' dear friend Sheldon Vanuaken became a convert, Lewis actually told him to be busy….learning to pray.