I came to a startling revelation a few months ago. I don’t have any friends. I don’t. I have a lot of acquaintances but, other than my wife, I really have no close friends.
I’ve had some friends in the past, but not many. Eventually something happened-nothing sinister, just something like moving, having a baby, changing jobs, building a home, going back to school, changing churches. Nothing bad or wrong, just something that happened-and the next thing I knew, another friendship slowly eroded.
There are half a dozen guys whom I consider to be close, caring people I always look forward to being with. They are people who accept me as I am.
But a close friend? Nope. Not one.
I have been wondering why for a long time. After some painful soul-searching, I think I have discovered the reasons.
My busy-ness myth
I am too busy. I am gone too much, travel too much, speak too much, and work too much. I have done an excellent job of convincing the people around me that I am too busy—too busy doing the important work I am doing—to have any time for friendships. In other words, I have convinced them to buy into the myth of my busy-ness to such a degree that the possibility of my being their friend (or their being mine) never enters their mind.
You see, people don’t want to impose. They don’t want to rob my wife and me of the few moments we have together, so they enable us by staying away so we can be even busier.
This week I am speaking in England, next week New York, the week after that Hawaii, then Australia, then Dallas, then Vancouver. Then I come home for a few days, exhausted, jet-lagged, useless to everyone around me while my body and mind adjust to the new and unfamiliar surroundings—my home. I spend a day with my wife and kids getting reacquainted, and all the while I’m anxious to get to the phone messages and correspondence that have fallen way behind.
I’m home, but I’m not home. I am present, but I am not really present. And then one morning I wake up and realize that I am alone. Very alone. I realize I need to do something about all of this. Then I race to catch the plane for my next trip and vow to change when I get home.
Busy making friends
When will it occur to those of us in the public eye that we cannot keep doing this? We cannot keep acting like we have no choice because without us the world will fall apart.
Instead of the world falling apart,we fall apart, or our families, or our kids, or our congregations.
I’ll never forget a statement Janis Joplin once made after a big concert: “I’ve just made love to 25,000 people, and I’m going home alone.”
If we are too busy to have friends, we are much too busy. If we are too busy to have time for our families, kids, or neighbors, we are much too busy. Most of us in the ministry are isolated, separated by our giftedness.
I have decided to make some friends.
It will mean I have to stay home. It will mean I have to spend time with someone doing absolutely nothing. It will mean I have to work at something that is not easy for me.
Instead of building a ministry to thousands, maybe we ought to build a friendship with one. Instead of speaking 200 times a year, maybe we should be known as someone who knows how to have friends.
Mike Yaconelli is the president of Youth Specialties and former editor of The Door.
Reprinted by permission. Originally appeared inThe Door, May/June 1991.
1996 by Christianity Today/LEADERSHIP journal
Last Updated: September 17, 1996
