"Albert Camus once wrote, "Blessed are the hearts that can bend. They shall never be broken. But I wonder, if there is no breaking, then there is no healing. And if there is no healing, then there is no learning. And if there is no learning, then there is no struggle. But struggle is a part of life, so must all hearts be broken." -Lucas Scott (OTH s5e11, ending monologue)

I would say that my heart has been really broken four times. Those four times only include times when I loved and lost, and none of the times in which I merely longed for and never had. Of those four times, only one is because a romantic relationship ended. And however traumatic that was, it was the lightest heartbreak of the four. If you know anything from my blog that I’ve hinted about my breakup, you can only imagine what the other three worse ones must be like.

But Lucas is right about learning. I learned what I believe is the meaning of my life. Perhaps, by sharing it, you may find some additional meaning in yours.

To love. To be loved. To love and be loved.

TO LOVE
When I was 6 years old, I met another young boy who transferred to my elementary school. He was a troubled kid. Angry. Hateful. He used cuss words some of us had never heard before. He yelled at everybody, including the teachers and principal. By contrast, I was truly blessed. I had awesome friends. I was in the most popular group of boys and our fathers were all friends. I played every peewee sport available in league. I was at least two grades advanced in math and reading. Life was as perfect as one can imagine.

In my naïveté, I could not understand how someone else could be so angry. So hateful. Why did he return my casual smile with swearing and scorn? Why did he ball his fists and throw tantrums? Why did he storm out of class regularly?

But I only knew one thing. I knew how to love. So I smiled at him every day when I saw him. I would say hello clearly and politely. My friends didn’t understand. But they would never go against me, so they merely steered clear. They politely ignored him. For weeks he would swear and yell at me in response. For weeks more he would just yell something. Weeks after that he would give me a cold glare in silence. Weeks after that he would give me a curt nod. Weeks after that he might actually give me a “hey”. And eventually, we became friends.

I found out that he lived with extended relatives. His story was tragic and traumatic. His mother shot herself in a gun cleaning “accident”, but who really knows. His father was either in prison or another because of drugs. I think even in his current home his relatives sold drugs out of the living room. So he was an angry kid. It didn’t go away. At least not for years. But him and I: we were okay. I defended him in more than one fight. I was blessed in a way I cannot explain. Nobody would stand against me, and I used that to stand up for him.

By the time senior year of high school came around, we had really drifted apart. I graduated salutatorian of my high school and went to my choice college. He graduated high school and went to a local community college. And I am so proud of him. Far more proud of him, than I think anyone should be of me.

TO BE LOVED
But there’s more to the story than just that. My friends, while they wouldn’t stand against me, couldn’t understand, and therefore couldn’t stand beside me either. They’re all good people, but they just couldn’t. Except one. T1.

If you know my blog, T1 is my childhood sweetheart. My best friend in elementary school. The girl next door (well, across the street). I don’t think she understood either. But she did know one thing. She knew how to love. She loved me.

She expressed that love by standing beside me when my other friends stood off to the side. She stood beside me even when she was scared of him. When he ran out of the classroom, it would be one hand that shot up to ask if I could go after him. But it was always two that walked out of the room to bring him back. It was always two who sat with him until he calmed down.

I didn’t know it then, but she loved me. She knew that this was important to me. In fact, it was her love for me was what allowed me to love him. People have looked at me and have said that I am strong. But it has always been because stronger people have loved me. All I’ve ever done is try and pass a little of it on to someone else who may have forgotten it. I will never forget her love.

TO LOVE AND BE LOVED
It’s been 20 years since I met T1. But 20 years ago I didn’t understand that I loved her too. I remember now, what I felt then. Now I understand it. I figured it out a long time ago that I loved her. But by the time I expressed that love, it was too late. You see, she never told me, but her home life wasn’t that great. Her parents fought a lot. I could hear them from across the street sometimes. Eventually her father left. She would never trust a man ever again.

I told her I loved her. I must have told her that hundreds of times since the first time. She used to smile, and tell me that I didn’t really love her. Sometimes she’d get angry and tell me that I didn’t even know what love was. For all those years, I kept telling her that I loved her. For all those years we never dated and I thought it was because she didn’t love me. I wrote her poetry. Sang her songs. Gave her flowers on her birthday. She gave me balloons on mine (because I like balloons).

She dated other guys over the years. Eventually we went off to different colleges. I had finally started to move on. I was with my ex at the time. Once she went away to college, she crashed hard. She crashed in every way you can imagine. But eventually she pulled through. Kinda. I wept for her. I went to see her from time to time, when I was back in California. I would admire her beautiful art, or listen to her exquisite music (cello). I would remind her that I loved her. She would scoff at me and tell me I didn’t know what love was. She would introduce me to her current boyfriend. I knew she didn’t love them. But more importantly, we both knew they didn’t love her. She wouldn’t let any man love her. Not after her dad left.

We haven’t spoken in a few years now. She lived in Berkeley the last time I talked to her. Sometimes I drive past her street and have the urge to turn down it and follow my memory to what used to be her front door to see if she’s still there. I was talking to T one day (T = T3 = my best friend). I don’t know why, but I asked why T1 didn’t love me. You see, they were best friends for a long time. T paused. Then she responded, “what are you talking about; how could she NOT love you?” All those years, it wasn’t because she didn’t love me. It was because she couldn’t accept that I loved her. I didn’t fail to win her love. I failed to prove mine.

To love. To be loved. To love and be loved.

This is the meaning of my life. In different times in my life I’ve had one, two, or all three of these. I’ve also had times when I felt like I didn’t have any of them. But it was in those times, that I realized something: I only had power over one of them.

The only part of that I could choose, was the first part. To love. To love even when I am not loved. Maybe especially then. To love without expectation. To love without regret. To love without requirement. To love because of the overwhelming love that has been lavished upon me over the years. To love, because it is the only thing I know how to do. Because it is the only thing that I can choose. When my relationships wash away, and the world ceases to love me, there is but one thing left to do. To choose to love. Not because it’s the better choice. Because it’s the only choice.

I started this blog in the aftermath of my failed relationship. I found myself wandering in the darkness for too long, and there were no answers there. So this is my charge to each of you. There will likely be times in each of our lives where we lose sight of everything. When the darkness, closes in. Many people seek to be loved, or to love and be loved. But truly, you only have control over one thing. To love. And the rest? Well, it’ll find you. In the meantime, live without regret, by loving without requirement, and know that there is meaning in your life, because you loved.

This entry is tagged OP, for Observation, followed by some Personal.

I’ve been doing a lot of thinking lately. I’ve been traveling and moving, keeping me away from my computer, so it has meant that instead of thinking and putting it down on paper, I’ve been keeping it all in my head. This is unfortunate, I’d say, for a variety of reasons. First and foremost, because there is a limited amount of thoughts I can hold concurrently in my head, and over time I tend to lose some of them. I don’t mean I forget about them, what I mean is that I can only think about so many things simultaneously all at once. They just get displaced for awhile until something reminds me again. Secondly, I do feel that somewhat, as I write, it relieves some pressure on me to keep things in my head. Once I ‘put it out there’, I feel less uneasy when thoughts get pushed to memory. In the event that I get struck by a train today, the thought however important or mundane, exists. Third, it means my blog doesn’t get any traffic, which means I am depriving my readers of my endless wit and insight *cough*. Anyway, the point is, somehow, I decided that this particular thought bears special effort to put to print.

I have been asked many times, “what is a friend?” This means different things to everyone, but I have given it considerable thought, and I think it is developed enough to share with all of you. Here’s the short version:

A friend is someone who thinks of you, when you aren’t around.

That’s it. Now naturally there’s a bit of qualification by ‘thinks’. Your enemies also think of you when you’re not around, but that’s not what I mean. Perhaps it would be more accurate to say thinks positively of you. Either they wonder how you are, or they worry about something in your life, or they miss you, or perhaps they are remembering some good times you’ve shared. Perhaps they send out some positive vibes in your direction. But I like that definition, and it is now my standing definition of a friend. At least… that’s my succinct definition. You know me, here comes the long definition:

1. Met once: You met at a party or event, maybe even had a brief conversation with, but never saw/spoke to again. You might recognize them on the street or be able to pull their name out of a hat, but never developed the interaction any further. Maybe you never even got each other’s name, but you know, “yeah, I met her once.”

2. A Name/Face: The lowest level of acquaintance. Ever have someone say, “hey, remember Bob?” Then you respond, “yeah… name sounds familiar…” Or conversely, you say, “hey, remember… remember… you know… what’s his face? With the hair, you know, and the thing, that thing?” *Note* That’s not how I talk, but that’s exactly how J describes people. It’s awful. The worst part is, I can usually guess who he’s talking about within 3 tries. That’s what happens when you were best friends for more than a decade. The following has actually occurred several times:

J: Steve, you remember, uh, you know, *snaps fingers repeatedly*, uh, uh, uh.

Me: No.

J: Yeah, you know…

Me: Person, place, food, thing buddy.

J: Person! You know! Teacher!

Me: Oh, okay… which one…

J: You know! *waves arms and snaps fingers* Uh, uh, uh…

Me: *patient silence*

J: BOOBS

Me: Oh, Ms. Davis.

J: Yeah… Brenda…

Me: *shakes head*

For the record, B Davis was our high school junior year AP English teacher (if any of you have her as a teacher/lover/friend/acquaintance, ask her about the time her students [us] got arrested, she’ll tell you). I didn’t notice at the time, but apparently it would have been more appropriate if her first name was Daisy, or Delilah, or Denise. I didn’t notice, but that’s largely because I was thinking along a different train of thought of names, more like Devil, or Satan, or Lucifer. We had a mutual dislike for one another, but that’s another story entirely. Wait, I digress, back to it. So that’s the second category, A Name/Face. You know, what’s his face?

3. Distant/old acquaintance: So this actually breaches the first major category of people you know. Not quite a friend, but an “acquaintance”. An acquaintance is someone you associate or associated with, but doesn’t quite make the friend category. They could be a classmate, or a co-worker. It would be someone about whom you could say, “yeah, I’m acquainted with him, we worked in the same office. He used to hit on the boss’ wife all the time. I wonder where he works now?” In this case, distant/old either means that you barely know and rarely see this acquaintance ever, or anymore. A distant acquaintance would mean that you probably never really saw much of them, whereas an old acquaintance could mean that you used to, but it’s been years since then, and probably haven’t heard from them since. These are the kinds of people you run into at high school reunions and reminisce about B Davis with.

4. Casual acquaintance: This is basically the same as the previous category, but that they’re still currently in your life. I’d say I was a casual acquaintance of the 3^rd floor janitor at my old workplace, Carlos (now he’s a distant/old acquaintance). I knew his name, I saw him every day, I could pick him out of a crowd, we greeted each other, but that’s about it. He didn’t speak much English, and my Spanish is awful, so we never really talked. Super friendly guy though. Still recognized me and waved whenever I went back to visit. A classmate you don’t really know is usually a casual acquaintance. This is also a good category for your sibling’s friends.

5. Close acquaintance/Social acquaintance: Now this might seem like a contradictory category, but based on my definition of a friend, it must exist. A close acquaintance is someone who is not quite a friend (by my definition), but you actually hang out with. Most people would call this person a friend. The best example I have for me, is my buddy TT and KT (brothers). We are only social buddies. On occasion he’ll call me up and see if I want to hit a club or a party with them and a group. We used to hang out pretty often (in fact, we used to be friends), but now he’s just a social acquaintance. It sounds a little awkward, but I use the term because I like to distinguish the fact that if either of us dropped off the face of the planet, the other wouldn’t necessarily notice or care (at least, not care on a personal level, we’d both be like “OH SNAP, he got hit by a train? That blows”). Don’t get me wrong, we look out for each other and last time we hung he was throwing all kinds of girls in my direction (he brought 5 girls, and my other buddy brought 5 girls, and there was only one other single guy in the group), but we’re not REALLY friends. We never talk outside of a social situation, or wish each other happy birthdays, or ask things like “how’s the family?” We’re social buddies, good ones, but just that. Similarly, a close acquaintance might be a close classmate, one who’s always in your project groups, but you’ve never gotten to know them outside of class or school. You didn’t know that he’s actually the son of a billionaire, but has cast off his family money and changed his name in pursuit of earning his own way through life. And that he’s actually a girl. Or used to be. Yeah. Didn’t see that one coming, did you?

6. Distant/old friend: So now we upgrade to the friend category, remembering the definition (thinks about you when you’re not around, remember?). See, for me to call someone my friend is to suggest that they care about me on a personal level. It doesn’t mean that they think about me all the time, or that they miss me when I’m not around. It just means that at least once in awhile they wonder to themselves, “I wonder how Steven’s doing?” Perhaps they’ll even pick up a phone and call to find out, or send a text or an e-mail. Even if this only happens every few years (as in this category), it still matters. My elementary school friends fall into this category. I still know them, as in, I could pick up the phone and get a hold of them, but we talk every few years, and aren’t really close anymore. But you know, I’d still be sad if I heard something happened to them, and I’d like to think that they’d be sad too if they heard I got hit by a train. I mean, that stuff’s just tragic. One moment you’re moseying your way along without a care in the world and the next moment WHAM, locomotive. Wait, I’m distracted again, gotta keep moving.

7. Friend: I don’t actually say “casual friend”, but it’s the equivalent. Your generic friend. Does this really require description? Eh, it’s me, so what the heck. Your typical friend. They know you somewhat. You hang out. You talk outside of mandatory interactions. When something bad happens to you, they feel sad, or, if they can do something about it, they do. At least they’ll try to cheer you up.

8. Close friend: These are not only your friend, but these are your good friends, your close friends. These are the ones that know you pretty well to d@mn well. We know who these are. Might have a handful of these perhaps. I used to anyway. They know things about you that don’t come up in casual conversations. There isn’t really a specific requirement WHAT they know though. One close friend might know that I always like to sit facing the front door/primary entrances and that I scout exits whenever I go out to eat and that I can use chopsticks both left and right handed. Another close friend might know my entire social and/or dating history past, present, and optimistically hopeful future. Still another might know about all of my life, health, family, work problems. These are the people that cry when they hear you got hit by a train. Hopefully not the only ones, but they definitely should. I mean, at least on the inside.

9. Best friend: This would be T.

10. The One: It seemed odd to have only 9 categories when 10 is so much more even. So number ten is your soulmate. Maybe it’s your husband or wife. Maybe it’s your best friend. Or maybe you haven’t met them yet. T isn’t my first best friend (actually she’s the 3^rd). J was number 2. T1 was number 1 (FYI: “T” = T3, “the ex” is T2, and my “childhood sweetheart” =T1). I suppose it’s difficult to ever really know when you’ve met “the one”, because unlike for Morpheus and Neo, you can’t just walk into an old apartment and have some old lady tell you who “the one” is. You also can’t wait for them to stop bullets and fly, both of which tend to cause death to you mere mortals. But that’s okay. Whether you know it or not, they still are the one, and to be honest, if you ‘miss’ out on them, then they’re not it. Perhaps they could have been, which is frustrating and is cause for much grey hair, but hopefully eventually you’ll not only find them, but stick to them, and let the good times roll. I think this is also T. I believe that. She’d probably deny it though. I think denying it helps keep her sane. Frankly, if I was her and I knew I was as good as it gets when it comes to “The One”, I’d probably be throwing back all kinds of pharmaceuticals, so I don’t blame her.

And that’s that. See now, you might be wondering to yourself, why is this post so important? Why is this post more important than any of the other pending thoughts I have in my head but have not yet put to paper? That’s because, this is only the public portion of this post. See, while it’s not important how many close friends you have (whether it be 1 or 10), how that number changes over time DOES matter. It’s nice when a close friend gets added to the ranks. And it’s not so nice when one drops out. Let’s look at my numbers by range of years:

# of close friends over time (not including best friend, if any)

Elementary School Years – 6 + many close social acquaintances (Best Friend = T1)

6^th Grade – 0 (no best friend, transitional drought)

7^th/8^th Grade – 0 (Best Friend = J, hung out constantly)

9^th-11^th Grade – 3ish + several close social acquaintances (Best Friend = J)

12^th Grade + 3 years of college – 6 extremely close friends (Best Friend = J, T3 climbing the ranks, dating my ex, who is T2)

Year 4 of college + 2 years beyond – Same as previous 4 years, but lost one close friend.

So if we look at this, I was super popular with lots of close friends and my childhood sweetheart for the 6 years of elementary school. Middle school I was a bit of a loner, but I met J and we became instant best friends and had grand times. High School I started reclaiming my social life, finding new friends, ultimately forming a close-knit group of 8 (including me and J, 4 guys/4 girls) that we kept together for 7 years from high school through college (losing one of the guys along the way). Two I had known since Kindergarten. Three since middle school. Just T was new to me from high school (I mean, I met her in middle school, but we didn’t really know each other at all, err, I take that back, I didn’t know her, I’m sure she knew plenty about me, long story, she and T1 were close).

Seven years of being a group. As close of friends as friends can be. We made plans and hung out every time it was feasible to do so between college and work schedules. We went to Vegas together as a group. We traveled other places too. We road tripped. We had sleepovers and crashed on futons to wake at noon for brunch. We shared hopes and dreams and fears. We celebrated together and cried together (usually the girls in the group doing the crying).

2007 I proposed to my ex, she accepted, a few months later she cheated on me and then kicked my @$$ to the curb for some douchebag guy she’d known for a month. That next year sucked. I went into recovery mode. Failed miserably attempting to land a rebound relationship. That brings us to 2008. If you notice, I created this Xanga at the beginning of 2009. I locked down my old one (which was basically a diary that only my group of 8 really read, it dates back to 2004 before they had all of these nifty networking things like top blogs and pulses and groups and the like). Why did I lock that one and create this one?

I’ll tell you why. Because I got dumped by all of my close friends, J, A, and H&H. The 5^th person, S, didn’t dump me, but of the group, we’re the least close, and since he’s out of state, we rarely talk or hang out outside of the group anymore. That just leaves me and T.

Have you ever broken up with a significant other? Know what that’s like? Ever lost a best friend? Try losing a gf turned fiancée of 7 years and 4 best friends of 7 years in the span of a year. It kinda sucks. You know what sucks more? It’s not like we had some kind of big fight and couldn’t resolve it. Yes, a very small fight may have started this cascade, but ultimately, we’re not friends anymore because they decided they didn’t want to be. They up and decided I wasn’t worth being friends with. Same with my ex. We didn’t have some fight that resulted in her cheating and dumping me. She just decided she wanted something different. Ultimately she told me she could never see her being with me ever again (I held her engagement ring for a year since I couldn’t bear parting with something that meant so much to us, well, at least to me).

Kinda makes one wonder, you know? Probably makes you wonder a little too. Makes you wonder how terrible my personality must be to drive these people to no longer speak to me when we didn’t even have a fight. It definitely makes me wonder. I’d like to think I’m a pretty pleasant person. I don’t like to complain about my own problems, which means I can spend my time being fun, or listening to everyone else’s lives. To be honest, I think my real life reflects my blog personality fairly closely. I like to talk. I like to tell stories. I like to listen to people’s problems. I like to give advice. Those are the things I do. Albeit, I used to be somewhat more interesting back in the day when my LIFE was more interesting, but that comes and goes.

Don’t feel bad for my life though. To be perfectly honest, my life is quite good. I won’t bore you with the details, but it really is good. What I don’t have? Friends. Someone to share my life with. People who care that my life is good or bad. People who get angry at the things that annoy you. People who know me. A reason to have a good life. A reason to be alive, really.

Someday I may lose T. It’s too much pressure on her to be the only one. She has her life, her boyfriend, her other friends (aka: my former friends), her obligations. Someday she’ll probably marry her bf. He’ll buy a house soon, they’ll get engaged. They’ve been house hunting. We’re drifting, and we’re both letting it happen. If I lose her, or, God-forbid she gets hit by a train, there won’t be a single person left in this world who knows me. Knows the real me. There will still be people left who will cry at my funeral (I mean, who wouldn’t cry at someone’s funeral who got hit by a train). But none of them would know the person they’d be crying for. I’d like to think that the group would show up for my funeral. It would be the right thing to do, you know. For appearances.

In many ways I measure my life by the positive effects I have on the people I care about. What’s the point of my life if there’s nobody left to care about? Don’t get me wrong, I love my family, but they don’t need me. They’d be sad if I was gone, but if I never existed, they’d probably be just fine.

And see, a few of you will read this. And you’ll probably say some nice things about me. Tell me you care. That my life matters. It’ll probably make me feel better for a few days. It’s nice. Don’t get me wrong, I care about all of you. But a hundred people reading and leaving nice comments on my blog won’t fill the void left by 5 people I love and who used to love me.

This blog exists because 5 of the 6 people I care most about in this world decided they no longer want anything to do with me.