TRUST IS EVERYTHING

This buck won’t drink outside my window unless he feels safe. He knows I’m here and stares at me to be sure I don’t move. I don’t. After days of this, he has come to trust it here and now drinks every night at the same time. But trust takes time and it starts with little moments of connection.

The simplest things connect us to each other: a shared hobby, a matching shirt or just having a dog of the same breed. These little touchstones keep us from feeling separate and isolated in the world. Our connections to others, no matter how short and sweet, or long and deep, keep us from falling over the edge of ourselves–and that slope can be a steep one.

Our friends are our first connections. Science says they even define us. I expect mine to be kind, inclusive of strangers and accept me as I am. If they are jerks to others, not welcoming to strangers or more focused on my flaws than my assets, they don’t make the cut. This includes family. As I tell clients, “Just because you share DNA does not mean you have to share Thanksgiving dinner.”

Scientists say we share about 1% of our DNA with our friends. This means we are likely just as ‘close’ to a friend as we are to our 4^th cousin. (Of course, we also share 50% of our DNA with bananas, so what does that tell us?) Further, it says that we choose our friends not just for who they are but for how they support who we are. So much for altruism. Apparently, we’re all narcissists.

Recently, my clients had to put down their dog. Both were bereft but the husband particularly so. They had adopted the pup when they first married. “She’s been with us since the beginning. Now I worry that with her gone, we will lose our connection to each other.” My first thought was, “Really? The dog is what kept you together for 13 years?” But I get it. He was that touchstone.

Many things hold us to each other: faith, money, kids, and time invested. Trust, though is the real glue. It lays the foundation for everything else. I have a pickleball partner whom I trust implicitly. In the five years we’ve played together, he has never corrected me and offered only encouragement. If an opponent blasts me with a ball, he will even throw himself between us.

But here’s the kicker: when I step on the court with him I trust I’m on solid ground. He’s a far superior athlete but makes me feel like I am, too. He doesn’t blink when I sing or dance on the courts, or tell me to, ‘keep it down.’ He just smiles (and steals my balls whenever he can). If every romantic relationship had a partner like that, I’d be out of business. Frankly? I wouldn’t mind one, little bit.

P. S. He did once ask me if I could “play a whole game without talking.” I tried it and ended up with a splitting headache.