Friends Forever?

Most of us would claim that relationships are one of the important things in our lives. Even if we discard boyfriends or girlfriends with alarming regularity, or we've traded an old spouse for a new one, or we spend way more time with our MacBook than with our so-called friends, we at least pretend to value relationships above stuff.

This is partly because, in theory, a relationship--especially the strongest bonds, like parent/child or husband/wife--will endure longer than any material object. Fortunes come and go, fame is fleeting, jobs change; but we hope that at least one special person will always be there for us. We pledge to our spouse to be there "till death do us part." Relationships matter because relationships endure. True wealth is being rich in relationships.

So I was struck by the total lack of support from any loved one for Bernard Madoff at his sentencing hearing in New York yesterday. (Read about it in the WSJ or the FT.) There was no one there to support him except his attorney, who is paid to be there. According to the WSJ, he "appeared without a single member of his family in attendance." Furthermore, in the days leading up to the sentencing hearing, Judge Denny Chin received more than 100 letters from victims of the fraud urging a tough sentence, but not a single letter or statement of support for Mr. Madoff.

Now, no doubt Mr. Madoff committed a heinous crime, carrying on the largest financial fraud in history for over 15 years, and evidently since his arrest he has not fully cooperated with the authorities trying to unravel the fraud, contributing to the maximum sentence of 150 years he received. He apparently deceived even his own wife and sons, who would normally be expected to stand with him through thick and thin. There is no way for a bystander like me to understand the sense of hopelessness of his victims, many of whom went from wealthy to paupers overnight, or the betrayal felt by his family.

But, still. Even murderers usually have someone--a mother, a brother, a friend--that stands with them for emotional support, not defending them or condoning the action, but being there to say "I care." Did Mr. Madoff not have a rabbi who could provide religious support? Did he have no friends who were unaffected by the fraud who were willing to stand with him while the victims excoriated him in public, to silently say by being there, "you are still human"?

Certainly during the boom years of the fraud, Mr. Madoff had a lot of friends. He had yachts and homes; he offered fancy dinners and expensive gifts; he ran in high circles. I guess we could say more accurately that his money had lots of friends; Mr. Madoff himself was perhaps more lonely. I wonder: which of my friends like me, and which like what I have to offer them? Who am I friends with only because I like their stuff or status, but I haven't even bothered to really get to know them?

I don't know what I would have actually done had I been a friend of Mr. Madoff's; but sitting here from afar, it seems like the Christian thing to do would be to stand with him as the abuse was heaped on him, to pray with him and for him, to assure him that despite his terrible deception, God still loves him. I wonder if I would have the courage to do that.

Most of us will never face such a situation. Instead, we have relationships with people who run into more common problems: kids that make bad decisions; friends who get into financial or other trouble; a spouse who lets us down. Similarly, we will run into our own troubles--a lost job, a stupid decision, a health challenge. I hope I am building the kind of relationships that will leave me with someone standing behind me, even when most have abandoned me. I hope that I will have the courage to stand behind my closest family and friends, even if their own actions have got them into predicaments that I don't approve of. "Friends are friends forever" says the old song--no matter what.

Staycation

My wife and I marked our anniversary last weekend by taking a "staycation" right here in Atlanta. At a charity auction last fall we had won a two-night stay at the Marriott Marquis in downtown Atlanta, so we used it to celebrate our 13 years of wedded bliss. Thanks to the inlaws for taking charge of the four bambini while we were away!

A "staycation"--vacationing at home--is enjoying a moment of popularity right now because of the financial advantages of not having to pay for journey expenses. But we experienced another benefit of staying close to home--the chance to see our own city in a new light. We had been downtown many times before--our hotel room had an excellent view of the office building in which I spent about nine years of my professional life--but always with a particular task or destination in mind, after which we turned right around and headed back out. This weekend, by contrast, we could just hang around and see what is going on during both the vibrant party hours of Friday night and the relatively calm mornings of Saturday and Sunday.

Downtown Atlanta is certainly more lively than its reputation allows, but it is not yet ready to be mistaken for New York or Chicago, either. The streetscape suffers from the years of growth and development when the car was put at the center of planning, and so many blocks of downtown are fronted by nothing but parking decks. The scale of buildings and intersections is huge, designed to be admired from afar as you drive in; Atlanta has a glittering skyline seen from your car as you zip along the freeway, but get up close and it is like you are seeing the backstage supports for the set of particularly large-scale movie. There are exceptions: the historic Fairlie-Poplar district, which of course was developed before the automobile, has a more human scale. But overall, when walking around one feels a bit out of place, as if intruding on an industral site.

There is also the unfortunate issue of the Downtown Connector, the freeway that bisects the city and separates the leafy residential neighborhoods from the concrete core. Venture across one of the bridges that spans this river of asphalt, though, and the city is downright pleasant. Both mornings, we walked across the Baker-Highland Connector bridge to Highland Bakery on Highland Avenue. It is only a 15-minute walk but you seem to have entered a different town altogether. The leafy streets, the presence of residents of all types--young, old, single, families--the repurposed old buildings: this part of town has a human scale, and thus is a welcoming environment. It helps too that Highland Bakery has fantastic baked goods, delicious breakfast items, and quite good coffee, too.

After breakfast Saturday morning we walked the streets of Inman Park near the bakery, admiring the century-old homes that have been lovingly preserved and updated and envying the walking lifestyle that these old neighborhoods allow. It was peaceful, fun, and just as different to us as a trip to a faraway city would have been.

So embrace the newfound thrift of our times, and instead of lamenting your lost vacation this year, get out of your routine and your well-trod path to discover a new section of your home city. You might be pleasantly surprised at what you find.

The Art of Slow

The May 2009 issue of Monocle carries an interview with Bruno Contigiani, the Italian founder of the Art of Slow Living movement. (Article available here online for subscribers. If you are not a subscriber, you can find Monocle at Barnes & Noble or Borders in the Current Affairs magazine section.) The focus of the article is Contigiani's imaginary "last meal," but what caught my attention was his definition of time:

Time is defined by the realisation that you do not live forever. When you move slowly, you live life better.

It is counterintuitive, but true: once you come to grips with the fact that you will NOT live forever, that time really is a limit on your life, then you are free to slow down. Once you admit you can't do everything, no matter how hard you try, then you become free to change your focus to doing things well, like Bruno Contigiani does, instead of doing more things.

Contigiani was not born knowing this; in fact, he was a hard-charging PR executive in Italy with a schedule that many of us would recognize: "with every minute packed with activities," he says. But 10 years ago, on holiday in southern Italy, he was seriously injured when he dove onto a rock in the water. During his long recuperation, grateful for his survival, he realized that most people, including him, were not making time to do the important things in life. So he started the Art of Slow Living movement, devoted to appreciating life each and every day.

Remember the Present Tense way to happiness: REM--Relationships, Experiences, Memories. Be rich in these, and you will have a life well lived, whether it is long or short. Let the measure of your life not be found in the area of your house, the balance at your bank, or the letters in your title. Let it be instead be in the number of people who call you friend, the sum of minutes you spend around the table with your family, or the number of stories you can recall of good times passed.

And finally, remember too what Bruno Contigiani says about eating (emphasis mine):

I try to eat healthily but I am not militant about it. We are not trying to live to 140 years of age. We just want to make sure that we stay healthy.

Eat well, and don't feel guilty about it. Life is good--enjoy it!