Grieving From Afar

I’m really not sure how to refer to this woman. She wasn’t a friend, but then again, “professional acquaintance” seems so… distant. The difference she made in my life was immense, and I wouldn’t be where I am today if not for her.

And maybe that’s why the whole experience has been… weird. I haven’t shed any tears for this woman, and to claim that I’m distraught would be disingenuous. Yet, I am saddened by her passing. I want to say this to her family. I want to hug her husband and kids and offer my sympathies, to let them know how she touched my life, even so briefly.

Still, it’s not my place to do so.

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I’m An Awkward Hugger

Meeting someone for the first time? Awesome.

What’s not so awesome? Hugging someone for the first time.

I confess, I’m an awkward hugger. To me, there’s nothing more anxiety-inducing than going in for that very first hug with someone I’ve recently become friends with.

The problem isn’t the first hug itself. The problem is when to attempt that first hug—when to level up the friendship from handshake / fist-bump / touch-on-the-arm / pat-on-the-back / casual-side-hug to….

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In Defense Of The Friend Zone

Tell me if this sounds familiar. You’re at a party and find yourself talking to a friend’s friend. He seems really cool and makes you laugh, but honestly, you don’t find him all that attractive. Later, he asks if you want to hang out sometime. You agree… hesitantly. Then you make an excuse to leave before he can ask for your number.

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Breaking Up Is Hard… For Your Friends, Too!

When my friend is going through a breakup, it becomes my personal mission to mend her figurative heart. The quantity of chocolate ice cream at the supermarket diminishes noticeably. The local Blockbuster’s angry-girl-loses-guy-but-then-meets-even-cuter-one genre experiences a huge spike in rentals. I have all the right tools to combat my friend’s newly acquired depression…. Except the verbal skills. Some people are

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That Guy Was My Friend, Part 1

To all these random people walking down Fourth Avenue on this random Tuesday afternoon, he was just some motorist they read about in the paper. He was some unlucky guy who had a run-in with the cops. He was a footnote, a statistic, on a simmering issue of police brutality. As far as these people were concerned, he was simply “that guy who got shot.” But to me, he was a friend.

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