You might be asking, “Who is this Doug character? Is this some kind of gimmick?”
My answer: Neighbor first. True friend second.
I can’t help but ponder friendship during this lonely time.
It started in March 2023, when I got a call from my mother: my father had taken a fall that could leave him a quadriplegic. I flew out to be with my family, and would you guess who called me regularly?
Not a soul.
This was before Doug. Before I was blessed with a stubborn, relentless, yet caring neighbor-turned-friend.
I used to believe that when tragedy strikes, the people in your life step up. I was wrong.
Dealing with my father’s near-full-body paralysis and my family’s emotional chaos, I didn’t have time to analyze who texted.
But I did notice who ghosted. Who disappeared. Who blocked me.
Let me be clear:
I’ve never been a perfect friend.
I love fiercely, but because of my Scorpionic nature, some confused that love with something sexual.
Have I crossed lines? Yes.
Said things I regret? Yes.
Lost my temper in moments of overwhelm? Absolutely.
And I’m sorry. Truly.
But none of my friends before Doug ever showed up with love, with boundaries, with real presence.
No one said, “Here’s how we fix this.”
No one said, “I care enough to confront this.”
Then came Doug.
I met him just before my father passed. And Doug and my father couldn’t be more different.
My father’s favorite position was sitting. Doug can barely tolerate sitting unless it’s in that vibrating spaceship of a massage chair.
My dad wheezed after half a city block. Doug yells at thunderstorms because they interfere with his daily twenty-mile hikes.
Maybe it’s generational. Most of my former friends are under 50 — some in their 30s. But men like Doug (82) or my dad (78)? They’re loyal.
They show up.
When my father died, it was Doug who called every day.
Doug who cooked me meals.
Doug who invited me over to watch a painfully boring Western, just to make sure I wasn’t alone.
Shoutout to one other friend — she spent time, energy, and money to attend my dad’s funeral. Regular contact dropped off after that, and there’s no hard feelings. She’s navigating a full life.
And that’s what made me realize, it’s not about political beliefs. It’s about showing up when it matters.
As for me, I could give two shits if you voted for a racist or a goddamn hobbit boot.
That said, I’ve walked away from people too. Not for who they voted for, but because they couldn’t meet me in my emotional truth. Judgment without curiosity? I don’t do that anymore.
If I love you, I love you.
Everyone else?
You disappeared. You dipped. You stopped showing up.
That’s the truth.
And what has all of this taught me?
How to be a better friend.
How to show up, even when it’s awkward.
How to have hard conversations instead of ghosting people you once said you loved.
God knows how long Doug has left.
But for now, he teaches me what true friendship looks like in the most consistent form I’ve ever known.
So yes — I’m accepting new friendship applications.
Virtual, in-person, wherever the hell I am.
Let’s be real with each other. If I offend you, say something.
I’ll be more hurt if you vanish than if you speak your truth.
And yes, despite how raw this post was…
There’s still an affiliate link in here.
Because story is layered.
So is grief.
And apparently… so is capitalism.
SaaS Onboarding Storyteller 