the canadian expatriate turned repatriated british national (don't choke on it, kids).

my best friend moved across the atlantic at the turn of the new year. in the grand scheme of things, he pretty much uprooted and transplanted the bulk of his life without any real planning or safety net. it's been three weeks since he landed on theretofore foreign (thenceforth "home" - in both the geographical- and citizenship-based senses) soil, and already he's found not only a great place to live, but also a job that pays well, is mere blocks from his door, and fits him like a glove.

and i can't help but feel proud of him. genuinely proud. like "small-glimpse-of-what-parents-must-feel-when-their-kids-do-something-great" proud. at first i felt selfish, as if i shouldn't feel proud. after all, they're not my accomplishments, and i certainly had nothing to do with his success, right? right. was i stealing his thunder for personal use? or riding his coattails to gain my own momentum? no way, i say.

then i realized what it was.

he's my best friend. not a good friend. a best friend. we've been friends long enough, shared enough, and invested enough in our friendship, that over the sessions, car rides, classes skipped, late nights and early breakfasts, he's become a larger part of my existence than i'd yet even noticed. i feel proud because he feels proud (or sure as hell should, anyway). so there you have it; i'd never sympathized pride before. maybe i've never had a friend go for theirs in such an inspiring way before. perhaps i had, but didn't recognize or appreciate it. but any way you spin it, the symmetry of it leaves it just as it was...


...god damn i'm proud of that kid.


one - first to that one, and then to all the rest,
jh..