I want to write about a person. I don’t know his last name. We are on a first-name basis. I don’t know what he does and he doesn’t know what I do. Most people I call friends at the gym don’t know what I do. But I imagine we would view our training at the gym to be a profession. After all, aren’t friends formed by conformity—whether they be values or interests? 

He’s impressive. I’m speaking about his physique. He has biceps the size of my head. I’m not joking. He has veins that snake around those massive arms. 

They look even bigger when attached to his 6’3” athletic frame. I don’t know how tall he is. He might even be 6’5”. He’s just a massive guy with dark black skin that makes his veins pop—like those summer days when I accept the risk of skin cancer to make my skin darker to see a shade of definition on my body. I should add, he also carries a little Winnie the Pooh backpack to the gym. 

It’s the kind of bag first graders might carry to school. It's small enough to fit a sandwich and juice box. You know, the kind of sandwich made with white untoasted bread. It’s a tiny bag.

My friend doesn’t carry sandwiches in his little bag. I don’t know what’s in there. But it’s a sight seeing his massive hands fill up the length of the top strap of the bag. That eight-inch bright yellow bag with a smiling cartoon bear’s face on it featured at the end of this huge human…it’s perfect.

He came up to me one day and told me I inspired him. That’s how the friendship started. He said he watched me train over the months since the gyms reopened. He said he loved my intensity and focus. 

He wanted to tell me this because he felt I inspired many others who would never tell me I did. He felt it was part of his duty to let me know this. I know I sound like an asshole tooting my horn. But it is what it is. I’ve written about my narcissism before and you should be well aware of this. 

I, like most humans, love compliments. But I am very uncomfortable when I receive it. I always hope I don't come off as some ungrateful ass after I get complimented. He continued to compliment my training from time to time. 

I’m grateful each and every time. I always came away wondering if I did as well a job reciprocating my gratitude towards his kindness. His compliments meant so much and I felt my responses often failed to communicate how much it meant. 

There are kind people everywhere in the world. But I learned the best way to meet them was by dedicating myself to something I love. I would’ve never met this friend if I didn’t a decade of my life moving iron up and down. 

That might be why I don’t have many investing friends. Same for writing. I’m much more mediocre at those skills than in powerlifting. Maybe another five and eight years to go until I’m halfway decent enough for people to want to be my friends it seems. 

That’s one more thing to look forward to when focusing on excelling at something. It brings you kind people.