Some friendships are built around where you live.
Some are built around what you do.
Mine with Eric was built around a simple question.
What if?
What if history had gone differently?
What if this business idea actually worked?
What if that song meant something completely different than everyone thought?
What if everyone else was wrong?
I still remember the night we met.
We were at a party, and before long we found ourselves in a spirited debate about the strength of the Israeli military.
Most people remember meeting someone because they had mutual friends or shared the same interests.
We met over an idea.
That wasn’t the point.
The point was the conversation.
We respected each other enough to challenge each other’s thinking without trying to win. We weren’t looking for an argument. We were looking for understanding.
I don’t remember who made the stronger case.
I remember leaving that night thinking,
“I’d like to have more conversations with this guy.”
Growing up, we practically did everything together. We rode our bikes all over town. We went camping. Every now and then we’d decide, for no particularly good reason, to make a midnight run to Kansas City just because the road was there and adventure sounded better than staying home.
Neither of us needed an itinerary.
Just a full tank of gas and another conversation.
Music became part of that friendship.
The Smiths.
R.E.M.
Morrissey.
Albums that somehow felt bigger than the speakers playing them.
They became the soundtrack to years filled with long drives, longer conversations, and the quiet confidence that there would always be another weekend to solve the world’s problems.
Eric eventually moved to Davis, California, to earn a master’s degree in an incredibly specialized area of English literature. If you asked me today for the official name of his program, I probably couldn’t tell you.
But I remember the writers.
Wordsworth.
Keats.
Wilde.
That was Eric.
He never wanted to skim the surface of anything. If something interested him, he wanted to understand it completely.
Looking back, I realize we were doing the same thing in different ways.
He chased literature.
I chased marketing.
Neither of us was really studying those subjects.
We were studying people.
Why they believed what they believed.
Why stories lasted.
Why ideas spread.
Why some conversations changed your life while others disappeared before you reached the parking lot.
Life eventually did what life always does.
Careers happened.
Families happened.
Responsibilities happened.
The afternoons that once disappeared into endless conversations became calendars, commitments, and errands.
There wasn’t a moment when we stopped being friends.
There wasn’t a fight.
There wasn’t a falling out.
There was simply less time.
Eric still invites me over to watch football or basketball from time to time.
We’ll sit there, cheer for our teams, laugh about old memories, and catch up on life.
It’s different now.
Not worse.
Just different.
Sometimes I miss those years when one question could lead to six hours of conversation without either of us noticing the clock.
Then again…
Maybe those conversations never really ended.
Every time I find myself asking why people think the way they do…
Every time I chase an idea farther than most people would…
Every time I ask, “What if?”…
I’m reminded of where that habit was encouraged.
Some friends teach you how to fish.
Some teach you how to throw a football.
Some teach you how to change a tire.
Eric made curiosity feel like something worth protecting.
And looking back…
I’m grateful we never ran out of things to wonder about.
If this resonated with you, you’re not alone.
