📿 On Whiskey and Friendship

Reflections on what makes for a spiritual friendship

The decanter in question

There is a decanter of Bulleit bourbon that sits in a cabinet in our dining room. For many years in my single life it sat even closer to me, on my desk. Some people keep ashes in their home to remember the deceased; I keep Bulleit.

There were years in my twenties when one of my best friends would invite himself over, bringing a bottle of Bulleit. Sometimes he would cook himself dinner in my kitchen while I lazily watched from the couch. Other times he would put on new music he had discovered and knew I would like. We would sip our Bulleit, catch up in seemingly meaningless ways, and then go out together to explore New York City. Those were some of the best nights of my life.

Langston Hughes once wrote a beautiful poem:

I loved my friend. 

He went away from me. 

There’s nothing more to say. 

The poem ends, 

Soft as it began,—

I loved my friend.

My friend passed away unexpectedly in July of 2012. I was, to say the least, devastated. There is nothing new for me to say on the topic that I haven’t said in previous writing; I loved my friend. The always full decanter of Bulleit became the visible reminder to me of our friendship. Ruby Alex, my daughter, is his namesake. 

There was an interesting moment though, in the aftermath of his passing, when I was tasked with going through some of his things: I found a list of names. My own name was on the list, alongside other friends I knew and some I did not.

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