I do not think that my evaluation of what makes a good friend has changed as I’ve gotten older. Rather, I think that my ability to recognize those traits which mark a true friend has matured.
Now, I don’t actually remember this part of my adolescence, but I work with young people so I’m assuming that I was once as they are now. Their definition of true friendship seems to be limited to loyalty above all else. If Johnny Football cheats on his teenage girlfriend, his *real* friends will side with him and back his narrative that it was she who first cheated on him. To them, truth is secondary to some absolute and immature concept of loyalty.
As I have aged, I have begun to value an honest opinion, given by a friend who truly cares about me, more than the agreement of a sycophant who only wants my approval but is actually indifferent to my well-being.
My only actual friend in this life sat with me in the hospital during both of my medical emergencies. He never once tried to convince me that my pack-a-day smoking and high-cholesterol diet had not directly contributed to my seemingly inevitable cardiac infarction. Nor did he chastise me in my lowest moment. He never said, “I told you this would happen” or “You did this to yourself,” although we both knew that to be true. Instead, he just sat with me in an uncomfortable hospital guest chair, watching The Walking Dead late into the night until the pain meds the night nurse administered finally knocked me out, freeing him to return to his own bed.
I think we all know instinctively what a real friend is, but in our pride we seek those lesser qualities that flatter us in the moment. When the bad things happen, we reevaluate those priorities.
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