days we share
Days We Share
Joseph Delamerced
Share one fun fact about yourself!
Are you kidding me?
What you’re supposed to be reading is a piece about friendship.
I had hoped that what I wrote was a way to connect with
others. There are many books and articles on the topic from
authors like Aristotle and C.S. Lewis, but the most important
ones are those we have penned in our hearts with our close
friends. Yet what does that word “friendship” mean, and what
purpose does it hold?
After much discussion with friends, coworkers, teachers, and
mentors, I felt the need to write. I think that many people feel
compelled to express their truths in the form most accessible
to them, whether that be prose, paintings, or any other form
of art. While I wrote, I felt that I was pushing a clear and
logical form of what friendship meant—what it conceived of,
who should be involved in it, how it should operate. The more
I wrote, the more it seemed so clear, as if the complexity of
friendship was unwinding before me. I found that God had
much to say about the nature of friendship, and I began to
incorporate verses from the Bible into the piece.
I finished writing, and then none of it made sense anymore.
I hit a wall.
When I returned to the piece, I found myself at home. It was
March, and I realized that the piece I originally prepared did
not feel as applicable nor as helpful given the current pandemic.
I must be honest even further: when I started writing,
I did not think I was qualified to talk about friendship. That
must sound contradictory, considering I’ve positioned myself
as some kind of knowledgeable person on the topic and one
who is eager to discuss it.
It’s not exactly a good look for a writer who wants to expound
about friendship to admit this. It would be even worse if I begin
to tell you that I might be hypocritical, that I might be able
to provide sound advice yet be unable to apply it to my life.
And it would be outright bad if I said that all of that was true.
I hope your image of me hasn’t become too tarnished, yet.
When my sophomore year began, my best friend from high
school and I stopped talking. Yet I still thought it wise to write
all about what friendship meant, using complicated words and
fascinating ideas. In February, I had finished writing the article.
I called it, “Biblical Friendship,” and then I renamed it,
“Is There A Good Way to Struggle?”, and then, exasperated,
I renamed it “Untitled.” I read, reviewed, revised, and read it
again. I didn’t like it.
“This sucks,” I whispered aloud. In the basement of a library
affectionately called the SciLi, I expected people at the desks
near me to react and say, “Oh, dude, stop that, man. It’s
good, for real.” But it’s a Sunday night, so everyone else has
headphones or AirPods in and are busy studying for actual
classes or accomplishing important tasks. I buried my face in
my hands.
“Who would even like this?” Certainly not me, and I wrote it.
I wanted to call one of my friends and talk through the creative
process, or maybe just complain that life has been hard
as of late. A lot of my friends at Brown are, shockingly (this is
sarcastic), involved in STEM, so I like to call people back from
my hometown in Cincinnati when it comes to more creative
projects. Now what was ahead of me was, truly, a mundane
task. Not the writing—but the act of calling a friend. I needed
to: (1) take out my phone, (2) unlock it, (3) open the Phone
app, (4) scroll through my contacts, and (5) call someone. This
was not a complicated process. I packed my things, got on the
Brown shuttle back to my dorm, and put on my headphones.
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