Searching for Male Friendship in a Lonely World

A few nights ago, I met up with a buddy of mine here in Los Angeles. His fiancée had flown to San Francisco while he stayed behind with their dogs. The two of us are close, but not too close. Sometimes I feel like I know his dogs better, and that's why I reached out to him.

We live in the same neighborhood, so we met for ramen only a few minutes from our houses. Afterward, we drove down the street to a beer store with a cool bar inside. The final destination was his place, where we drank Japanese whiskey and listened to Christmas music. We also smoked a joint he brought back from Mexico when I had looked after the dogs.

We didn't play video games or watch television. We drank plenty, but not enough to get drunk.

We just talked about life for a while and took the dogs for a walk. It was one of the most special nights I can remember, and it made me wonder why.

I knew I wasn't always missing male companionship in the fullness of my life. Growing up, I had the perfect amount for a private school kid from Texas. Four brothers and no sisters meant pick-up games and constant laughter. The sound echoed past the streetlights until darkness drove us home.

In college, I had plenty, too. West Point is nothing if not grown from male camaraderie. Four years of training and sweating it out with buddies in preparation for war. Upstate and by the Hudson, you get close to men quickly, or fall behind, malnourished.

Still, something happened afterward, and I'm attempting to unravel it. In the jungle of my thirties, I realized something had disappeared. Outside my family, the men in my life went up in smoke. There were no flames, of course; they vanished quietly. One by one, I noticed they were gone.

At weddings, I found groomsmen out of touch in dark suits. At every reunion, a buddy inevitably asked, "Whatever happened to that guy?" It made me uneasy to see a lack of effort in my fellow men. They weren't aloof, just unconcerned with saving what might be lost.

Years passed, and they were unmoved by my desire for friendship. Most were driven and focused on making names for themselves out in the world. In constant battle, there were career moves and attempts at romantic love. When those failed, I sat beside them and listened like the offspring of divorce.

"Subconsciously, they do not need men," a professor of mine would later clarify. "Connection takes a back seat. They have their tribe to lead to safety." If men are protectors, it's the family that comes first. Why risk rejection  or re-live it? The world is confusing enough without risking the unpredictable bonding of our youth.

"It happened to me," my father eventually added. "I'm lonely. I'm looking for someone to return my calls." I mentioned this to my buddy as he poured the last of the whiskey. His father was a veteran, a survivor, but had stopped fighting long ago.

Men need friends to fight for them, to encourage them, to exist alongside them when life gets going. What we really need is for them to fight with us for a cause. It's a bitter world without this. We want brothers willing to meet us in the dark.

We need friends to stop proving themselves each time they come around a corner. We understand and still accept you. Just give us who you are today.

At some point, as more jobs and children appear, we forget about male friends, and we need to acknowledge that this is painful. We need to feel that loss of intimacy. There's still time to bring it back.

There's still time to repair the damage of lost friendship. To be one you never had, someone unafraid to help others along the way.

I thought about living better and living longer as I sat and hung out with Matt that evening. Turns out he's a keeper, the cold weather kind, and I told him just as much.

We said "I love you." to each other as we walked the dogs after midnight and tried not to freeze too badly. An hour later, I climbed into my truck and cried before heading home to eat tacos and get some rest.

I miss having friends, man, I truly do. I don't know who I am without them, but I do my best to carve it out.

I'd love to find some more one day. In the meantime, I just try to be a good one.

Driving home, I was grateful for the ones who found me first.