Highway 17, here in California, opened in 1940 to bridge San
Jose and the rest of the bay area to Santa Cruz, replacing older roads and the
rail line. And the geographic history of the area has intertwined with it ever
since. But in my time it also held a
various dubious title, a claim to infamy both in this state and in the country.
At one time California Highway 17 was the deadliest stretch of road in the
United States of America.
In the last forty years since they’ve made quite a
few improvements to curb the nearly one fatality a day statistic it used to be.
And now, though still plagued by the occasional wreck (among the many
challenges the stretch of highway still provides) it’s far and few between
fatalities along its windy mountain lanes.
That almost wasn’t the case yesterday when a dear friend of
mine, on her way to work in Santa Cruz, went to pass a slow moving bus and was
rear ended.
The for the sake of everyone I’ll just say she walked away
with nothing more than bruised ribs. I mean, yes, she’s frazzled; who wouldn’t
be? The car is totaled and her and her husband(ish) are now having to deal with
the aftermath of their one vehicle destroyed. This just on the heels of her
dealing with a small medical issue. So she’s laid up and trying to cope with
the fact that no matter how much they try to tame 17, there’s always some demon
speedster out there trying to do eighty up a road rated fifty five.
I’m glad she’s (mostly) alright. And I know that they will
recover and get on their feet, again, because they are that kind of couple;
tough, resilient, and self-empowering between themselves. They’ve been key
members of my Rogues Gallery for a while, and I’ve come to respect (and maybe
even envy) them for that. In fact, I am lucky enough to have a select group of
friends that are unique, fairly giving, and diversely talented and entertaining.
And, for some reason, they occasionally like to even let me socialize with
them. Heck, they even admit to knowing me… in public… and on purpose, too.
Friendship is a wondrous thing, and probably the other great
mystery about the human condition. It basically boils down to finding someone
who has some degree of your weirdnesses – or at least something complimentary –
and then saying; “yeah, you’re kind of like me, let’s do stuff together.” And then
off you go. And, much like a full blown love, our friendships enrich us, help
us grown, and untie and bind us into these kind of families that, in some
cases, become stronger and more binding than blood relations.
I pondered this over a beer at a bar in the city, rolling
over the most awful of scenarios had things not played out the way they did.
And moreover, as I reassured myself that they most assuredly hadn’t, what specifically
my friends – who I affectionately call my Rogues Gallery – have come to mean to
me.
They are my fellow cast members in the show of life. They
have inspired me in my endeavors; though sometimes they didn’t know it. They
are the giants upon whose shoulder I stand to glean a better understanding of
life. They’ve soothed me when my troubled mind boiled. They have filled me with
hope when I was lowest. They have grounded me when I’ve sored just a touch too
high. The have gifted me purpose when I had no meaning. They have held me when
I could not find my feet beneath me.
Often I feel horribly out of place, but then I chat up with
my Rogues Gallery and I know I’m right
As I said, I almost lost a Rogue yesterday. Just the thought
of that makes me shudder. Losing any one
of them would be like losing a piece of myself; a piece of my family. More than
anything else they mean so much to me, each and every one. It’s not a thing I
mind over; there’s no weakness in this. Just the contrary, in them I become
stronger. I hope they feel the same way. Because, in the end, that’s what
friendship really is; investing ourselves in others for mutual returns that strengthens
us all as a whole.
We are each mighty. Our friends make us formidable.
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