Making The Cut

What does it mean to be a friend?  I mean, a real friend.  What does it take?  Do people even know, anymore?

I went through my friends list this morning, and recognized all the faces.  I remembered all the things we did together, the various conversations, hugs, kisses or secrets shared.  And then I deleted them.  I didn't even like an uncomfortable number, and I'm sure they felt the same way, we'd just fallen victim to the social graces and popularity contest that we call life.

I'm raising the bar again, if you're still on my friends list, congratulations—I find you to be a genuine person at heart, and believe you're a valuable, sincere contribution to existence, as a whole.  But what's my opinion matter?  I'm just another crazy, wild child who believes that world domination is merely the next step to enlightenment. 

Trust is a fickle thing, hard to gain, and easy to lose.  How does one build trust?  In my opinion, empathy and reliability are crucial factors, but the most important is that what everyone seems to miss:  unfettered, unapologetic availability.  I readily admit that I'm sometimes too tied up in my own life to realize what's going on in everyone else's, but if I get a call from a friend in need, then I drop whatever I'm doing and fulfill my obligation as a dedicated friend to them.  I don't start crunching numbers, I don't glance repeatedly at my watch, and I try not to cut them down.  Instead, I jump into my car, open my schedule, and freely offer my wallet, and heart.  Why does our relationship with others always come with strings and limitations?  Why are we so hesitant to commit to others, and truly help those we love?

We all have acquaintances.  You know the type, you buy them a drink when you're out and about; you give them a hug when you're spotted on the street, and then you never, ever call them outside of the social circumstance.  There's nothing wrong with this, but they are not your friend.  It's bothersome when people are so obsessed with the contest, and so set on cool that everyone's "my boy, my girl".  There's no respect there, anymore.  They don't care who you are, and you might offer an, "oh, that's too bad" if you heard they fell off a bridge, but there wouldn't be any more thoughts after that, and certainly no tears shed.

Respect, where does respect come from?  Is it the sum of accomplishments, the acclaim and responsibility vested unto, or the investiture of proven, experienced heroism?  I feel that respect is earned through awe and manipulation, but also through critical confidence in self. 

You never hear about "common sense" people on the news.  You hear about the risk-takers, the crazy, and the dead.  We respect those people, we're awed.  Most of the time, we say, "I could've thought of that", or, "I wonder what I would've done in that situation".  Or perhaps, we're simply amazed, and respect suddenly blossoms.  We're constantly looking for those who inspire us, for those who pursue and compete with their idols.

How do you maintain that empathetic, unfailing bond against the jagged hardships of life, humanity and competition?  How do you balance a double-edged razor?  Can we ever be a quintessential friend to anyone but ourselves?