On the Thing That Has Nothing to Do with Money

My best friend and her family drove down Friday. Their son, 18 months old, threw up after they’d left their house–all over his seat, the car, himself. So they turned back, cleaned him, cleaned the car, cleaned the seat, repacked, restarted. Five-and-a-half long hours plus one. The directions, which I’d e-mailed her in a hurry, didn’t account for construction, so they ended up an extra hour out of their way. Five-and-a-half long hours plus one plus two.

5 PM, Friday. A little growing family walking up to my house. Their son has her eyes–crystal blue with the longest, darkest lashes you’ve ever seen and the roundest, sweetest cheeks. We hug. Son meets my dog, family sees my family, we go get dinner.

I haven’t seen them for a year–one whole year. When Son was just six months old, not walking, not talking, not playing with his new giraffe truck or throwing chew toys for the dog. I love them. Love her, who was my instant friend when we were roommates almost seven years ago. Love him, who is her match in every way–kind and patient, hard-working and strong. Love their son, who is not only beautiful but to me perfect–perfect in the way that only your best friend’s first child can be.

Funny things happen when you see old friends, especially old friends that you don’t get to see often. You remember them, you remember yourself with them. And, this is important, you see yourself now in terms of how it compares with you then, as they knew you.

I’m not where I thought I would be by now. And I don’t even mean the living-at-home thing or the working-in-my-industry thing. I’m just, not.

I want to make decisions that I know will be the right ones. And when I think of things that I just know are right–when I’m being as deep-down honest with myself as I can be–I think I want to do something for someone else.

What does this mean, exactly?

The best answer I can come up with is simple but vague: loving. I want to be a true, honest-to-goodness lover to the people I know. I want to sacrifice in ways that are uncomfortable and not immediately rewarding. I want to invest in more than the stock market–in people, which are the only things that really matter. I want to remember, when I think I need more money, when I want something I can’t have, when I’m discouraged: true joy isn’t in things, no matter how beautiful or wonderful they are.

It’s in relationships.

Because when I have friends who will spend seven-and-a-half hours in a compact car with their little son to see me, who will drive through the night the next day and arrive at home by 2 AM, who will value me because of things that have nothing to do with my job or my money or my goals, I feel really, truly, remarkably blessed.

Filed under a deeper look at life, relationships |