Tonight, I had a moment. It was a sad moment; a nostalgic moment. I suppose I was feeling sorry for myself.
But my best friend sat with me and talked me up out of my bad moment, and eventually we started talking about other moments that I’ve had: great moments, random five-minute or two-day intervals that I will never forget. The guy I met on a train when I was eighteen who I looked up randomly and saw again five years later in his hometown of Auckland, New Zealand. Arbitrary flirtation at 35,000 feet with a complete stranger who I never saw again. A song played on an acoustic guitar just for me in a basement room in California. Running into a girl I knew for one day in New Zealand twice since my return to the US. The childlike grin my father would get when he was extremely proud of something he’d done. My best friend and I, stoned and laughing and eating cereal in the middle of the night just like we used to do when we were fifteen.
And I realized that although I’m often lonely–painfully lonely–I have led a life whose history is made up of millions of moments that I’ll never forget, and that most of the unforgettable moments were good ones.
I also realized that sometimes a good friend, someone who’s known you almost as long as you’ve known yourself, is all that’s really necessary to make you feel better when you’re down.