Some days stick in one’s memory. They are not necessarily defined by joy, triumph, or tragedy, either. These days can be unremarkable by their appearances except that they hold a mirror up to one’s life and tell a story. They say, “This is where you are. This is who you are. And your character—all of it, good and bad—got you here. So pay attention.”
Last Saturday was one of those days in my life where events conspired to soften and to humble me. And is so often the case when these events spill from the calendar into memory, friends are at the center of the story.
I awoke early, knowing that my friend Scott Stultz would arrive at my home in the early morning. He had planned to strike out before dawn from Baltimore where he had spent the night. Although we speak on the phone often, it had been nearly six months since I’d seen Scott in person—a long time since we used to get together a couple times a month when I traveled near his home.
Scott had driven down for the day and an overnight. We had planned to meet another friend who was in town from Arizona for early coffee and subsequently join other friends for breakfast before heading to the smoke shop for our Saturday gathering.