Last night I was glum. I was watching Grey’s Anatomy when my phone vibrated next to me. Delighted to see it was my dear friend, Chris, I responded immediately.
He texts me when he’s working the night shift in the ER. He’s in Michigan, so I’m one of the few people still awake during the long, odd hours he is on his feet pulling bullets out of people.
We caught up on life: his twins, my dog, the state of my love life.
I admitted that my writing wasn’t going well. Forever an optimist, and forever my biggest fan, he encouraged me.
My life may not have been hanging in the balance, but my motivation certainly was. His belief in me was just what the doctor ordered. (Forgive the cliche.)
As we texted, it occurred to me that the men already in my life — my friends — have set the bar exceptionally high and I told him as much.
“I pity the poor man who has to live up to the standard you’ve all set,” I told him.
“You’re too kind,” he replied.
“Well, it’s true,” I countered.
And it is.
Chris and I have been friends since we were 12 years old, and he is a tremendous human being. He has forgiven me for paying more attention to his soccer teammates when I was tutoring them in calculus… and other transgressions.
He has also come through for me with words of encouragement, a listening ear, and loyal friendship for 26 years. We first bonded over a mutual love of Twin Peaks at 7th grade camp, and we’ve never looked back.
After last night’s pep talk from the doc, I’m ready to do a little writing today.
(Writing other than this, that is.)