On Gratitude – A good friend (is one of the greatest things you can be in this world)

As the New Year approaches, and I reflect on all that has passed in the past two years, I feel overwhelmed with gratitude, and with the recognition that I would be nothing if it weren’t for the efforts of many people.

One person stands clear above the rest – my good friend Anatoly Rinberg.

I’m going to keep this short, because this will be irrelevant for most of you, and because he should already know most of this. I admit – this post will be more for myself than for anyone else.

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When I fell off the radar during the depths of my depression, Toly reached out to me.

When I thought I was going insane, and loathed myself for mistakes I’d made in my past, Toly expressed his strong belief in me.

When I isolated myself in China, and each day looked forward to nothing but drink, Toly visited me.

When I survived rock bottom, Toly stayed in touch.

When I dropped out of school, and my father cut ties, Toly opened up his world to me and gave me a place to stay.

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While I hold unorthodox views on many issues, I am very old fashioned when it comes to my views on friendship. I value loyalty above almost all else – to an extent beyond reason.

Toly surpasses my standards.

One thing I have learned from these past two years is that there are few people in this world you can count on. This is not a matter of my being cynical – it is fact. There are many good people who will treat you with kindness, and many who will generously offer help when it does not greatly inconvenience them, but when shit goes down, it is incredibly rare to find someone who will sacrifice for you. It is nearly impossible.

Let me briefly recount a story about my Younger Uncle in China.

When my Younger Uncle, at my father’s request, quit college to start working on my father’s chemical business, they were the poorest of the poor. This was blind faith between blood brothers. My father was a scientist, with no experience doing business, and they were ten years apart in age – when my father left for college in China, my Younger Uncle was only five or six years old. They hardly knew each other.

When they first started out, they had nothing. My Younger Uncle had to drink excessive amounts of alcohol and put his pride on the mat to find someone who would lease them a factory. They rode long distances on shitty bicycles to get to work, and they often worked days in a row without sleeping. Mice crawled up their pant legs.

My paternal grandparents were long ming – farmers from the countryside. It pained them to see their sons, whom they had sacrificed so much for to raise and send to college, struggle for what seemed like an illusory dream.

In a culture that values pride and honor above all else, my Younger Uncle had none to speak of. When he walked by his old college classmates on the street, none would acknowledge him.

Now that he is successful, they take him out for drinks, and ask him to pay for their health insurance.

When I was in China, and my Younger Uncle took me in as “a second son,” he told me that one can never have any friends. There’s no such thing as a true friend, he said, and he tried repeatedly to drill this into my head.

Still, I insisted he was wrong, not because I have faith in most people – I do not – but because I believed I could count Toly as a real friend.

Toly, you proved me right. Thank you for everything you’ve done for me – I’ll never forget it.

See you today at Princeton Junction.

-Dave

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