My Friend, Jon

They say you should write what you know. What I know is that my best friend of nearly 15 years suffered a massive stroke 4 days ago and I’ve been in the hospital with him every day since. His name is Jon.

Of course, as someone who’s always looking for the meaning of life, I started thinking about all of Jon’s complexities, his charm, his humor, what drew us together, and what kept us in each others’ lives for more than a decade.

This is what you have to know about Jon. He has a lot of friends. And that’s an unequivocal testament to the pureness and beauty of his heart. He’s the nicest person I’ve ever met. Literally. He vomits kindness unto every cashier at the grocery store, always making sure to hold eye contact and flash them the biggest smile after he thanks them and pays. He consistently shows up with a gift, or thoughtful gesture, whenever he comes to my house, just because he delights in seeing the happiness on my face when he hands me a dark chocolate bar. He’s the kind of guy with whom you build and cherish a unique bond, only to find out that he has similar bonds with so many other people as well, because his heart is so big, so vast, so cavernously compassionate, that everyone who knows him wants to bask in the warmth of the light he exudes.

Okay, so picture it. It’s 2014. I’m on a small yacht docked in Long Beach and I’m sexually confused. It’s sunset and Jon comes aboard with his friend Steven. And I immediately start basking in his light.

I had just come off a stint of dating women, but like nickel to a magnet, I was pulled in under Jon’s thrall, tempted by his chiseled jaw and unnaturally enchanting icy blue eyes. From then on, I was hooked. We had an on-again-off-again romance that lasted half a decade, sure, but what we also built in that time was a foundation of intimacy, of friendship, of truth. I pushed him to always tell me the sometimes painful, unbearable truth, and he pushed me to understand that he valued me on a level that went deeper than just blighted romance.

Over the next almost decade, our relationship unspooled from a too-tightly wound ball of yarn into a quilt of friendship patched together by brotherly teasing, new levels of trust, vexing arguments, and even more honesty. Instead of being honest about our romantic feelings, our conversations turned into optimistic ones about life — where we would go, who we would be, what we would do — and how we promised to bring each other along for the ride. No matter what. Him, always dragging me along when he booked the last-minute jet ski excursion, had one more glass of wine, or splurged on the hotel room in Lake Como. And me, always daring him to bare his feelings over breakfast, make him talk in funny accents at lunch, or sneak into a random upscale party after dinner. Ours was always a dance of adventure meeting honesty, balancing both in a tango of which one would lead.

And now we’re here, in 2026, me in his hospital room as he gets some much-needed rest, by his side, “along for the ride,” in perhaps a different way than we intended when we made those promises to each other. His road to recovery will be a long one, but I believe in the spirit of his soul, that adventurous warrior, and how it will carry him to be an even more integrated, whole version of himself than I’ve ever seen before.

There’s a saying that goes, “you can never make new old friends,” and while Jon may not be my oldest friend, he’s without a doubt been my most impactful. He’s taught me patience (a lot), how to see the world with more logic than emotion, how to be more comfortable with myself, how to love, how to trust, how I can inspire others, and how to be a great friend. And while I’m not perfect, I’m happy I have someone as good as Jon to guide me and make me a better man.

How lucky am I, then, to have one person in my life who has contained such multitudes? To have one person who’s been a lover, a brother, a friend, a confidante, a rival at times, and most importantly, someone with whom I’ve explored new countries, tasted new foods, danced to old songs, and laughed with until our cheeks stung.

I — and so many others — love you so much, Jon. And I can’t wait to be there for you on your healing journey. And most importantly, to see you on the other side of it.