I’m taking today (mostly) off — as a last sort of deep breath before the final election sprint. (Twenty two days left!)
But, I got back last night from a weekend trip to Nashville with five of my college friends. And I wanted to tell you about it — and why it mattered so much to me.
Let me first say this: I (and my friend group) are not the sort that have been getting together like clockwork every year at a set time and in a set place since we’ve graduated.
During our 20s, at least some of us always lived together or in the same city. We didn’t have kids (or a whole hell of a lot of obligations). We saw each other sporadically — but enough. Our lives didn’t look all that different than they had in college. We worked. We worked out (sometimes). We went out.
And as 20s turned to 30s, we had the wedding circuit. My closest friends got married in pretty regular intervals — one right after we graduated, a few in our mid to late 20s, and even a few into our mid 30s.
We didn’t see each other as much as we had in college. Because, well, we didn’t live together anymore. But we still saw each other enough. We knew the basic parameters of each others’ lives; we were still a part of the basic infrastructure of each others’ worlds.
And then — from 35-ish to 49-ish — we got disconnected. It wasn’t purposeful. And, my guess is, if you asked each of us, we would express regret about not doing more to stay in each others’ lives.
But, you know how it goes. Little kids demand a whole lot of energy. Building a career requires the same. Youth sports become a giant time suck — especially on the weekends.
Losing touch doesn’t happen all at once. And it often happens with the best of intentions. We had innumerable stops and starts at planning a yearly trip. Emails chains that drifted off amid scheduling conflicts. Text threads that went around and around without anyone willing to say “I will take this on and ensure it happens.”
Regardless of the why, the end result was the same: We didn’t get together as a group for more than a decade.
This, I have learned, is not unique — especially among men. I’ve written about the challenges of male friendship before — and the responses I got confirmed to me that we, as dudes, do a tremendously poor job of maintaining close relationships with other men we really value.
Why? Gender stereotypes about “real” men not needing a whole lot of emotional support. Societal pressures — still! — about men being tasked with supporting the family financially. Laziness. Other stuff.
The point is this: Men suck at maintaining real and lasting friendships. And by that I mean friendships that go beyond being work colleagues. Or talking about sports on the sidelines of a kid’s soccer game. I mean friendships that go beyond the superficial. Where you can talk about real things: Marriage, kids, job stuff, mental health, aging parents etc.
I think men tend to assume that their spouse is supposed to be the repository for all that “touchy-feely” stuff. Here’s the problem: a) most men (myself included) struggle to share that stuff even with a spouse and b) close male friendships scratch a different itch than your relationship with your spouse or significant other does.
Women get this. Women — especially as they age — do a very good job of fostering relationships. Girls trips are a regular feature of most marriages. As are girls nights out. This is good. And healthy. And should be emulated by men.
All of which brings me back to two years ago. When my friend Bart — he’s been featured on this Substack! — decided to single-handedly change the trajectory of our college friend group.
Bart took it upon himself to spearhead scheduling. He wrangled. He cajoled. He never let us just drop it.
We got together in D.C. last year — three of us live here anyway — and had a great time. Then, thanks to Bart, we picked Nashville and Columbus Day weekend this year.
We did so understanding that not every one of us would be able to make it. (One of us couldn’t this year.) But also with the plan that if three or more could make it, we would do it.
It wound up being six of us this year. And the entire weekend this riff about the “Friend of Your Youth” from Robert Penn Warren’s “All The King’s Men” — my favorite piece of fiction ever written — kept going through my head:
The Friend of Your Youth is the only friend you will ever have, for he hasn’t the slightest concern with calculating his interest or your virtue. He doesn’t give a damn, for the moment, about Getting Ahead or Needs Must Admiring the Best, the two official criteria in adult friendships
(Sidebar: The entire “Friend of Your Youth” section from the book is much more depressing. But I always like to remember this part of it.)
That’s it right there. We talked zero about our professional accomplishments (of failures). Or how much material wealth we had it accumulated (or hadn’t!).
Because, at 50, none of us cared. We didn’t become friends when we were 18 or 19 or 20 because we thought it might be advantageous to us for the future. None of us even knew the word “networking” existed back then. We became friends because we found common cause. A shared sense of humor. A way of looking at the world. A sense that — in some hard-to-put-a-finger-on way — these people “got” me.
We all have now lived enough life — and experienced enough ups and downs — to know that peacocking is pointless. That admitting you are questioning the right next step in your career or the struggles you are having with one of your kids or your own disappointments with how something turned out isn’t weakness, it’s strength.
I cannot tell you how liberating it is to be around people with whom you simply do not have to worry are judging you. Or who you feel like you need to impress.
What did we do? Mostly talked. About harpsichords. Harmony. Cameron Winter. Football. Futbol. Cool legal stuff (three of the six are lawyers). People who we went to college with and hadn’t thought of in decades. (You can find everyone on the Internet!) Movies. Kids. Colleges. James Talarico. Donald Trump. This performance by The Who. Why Neil Peart is considered the best drummer ever. “The Wire.”▶ This Andre 3000/BigBoi “Key & Peele” skit. Chuck Klosterman. Our favorite Ron DeSantis content. Other things I will not mention so as not to incriminate anyone 😂😂😂.
And we laughed. Big laughs. Guffaws. Tears-from-laughing sort of laughing.
It’s those laughs I will remember. Because, here’s the truth: We’ve all made it to 50. That’s something. Life is worth celebrating — and laughing about. Nothing is guaranteed. Be joyous with the people you love.
