Have I ever told you about my buddy, The Ferryman?
I’ll call him that, because he wouldn’t appreciate the attention. And sometimes he’s the Ferryman and sometimes another person is. But this is mostly about one man: Ferryman.
This guy.
He’s absolutely amazeballs.
I love him to death.
He lives half a world away. We met on a volunteer project fifteen years ago, and if you’d asked me then which of those people I’d still be talking to years later—sharing my darkest fears, biggest failures, and the places where I still come up short—I never would have guessed it would be him.
But here we are.
It turns out we’re wired in remarkably similar ways. We have many of the same weaknesses. Our wives have many of the same strengths and struggles. In a strange way, talking to Ferryman is a bit like talking to myself—but with the enormous advantage of hearing my own thinking from someone who isn’t trapped inside my own head.
He’s solved problems I’m still wrestling with.
I’ve helped him through some that I’ve already fought.
There’s this beautiful exchange of ideas, encouragement, correction, and grace that I’ve only experienced a handful of times in my life.
The Bible speaks of friends who are “born for adversity.”
I’ve always loved that verse. I think Ferryman and I have become that for one another.
Ninety minutes on the phone with him leaves me feeling... human again.
Not perfect.
Not finished.
Just... capable.
Capable of being kinder than I was yesterday.
More patient.
More thoughtful.
More willing to put away selfishness and choose what matters.
Lately I’ve been thinking a lot about self-control.
Growing up in a violent home, anger wasn’t something you mastered. It was something people unsheathed. Tempers weren’t controlled; they were wielded.
It took decades to break that horse.
Or at least to get it mostly broken.
I thought that was the battle.
Then I discovered there’s another horse entirely.
The quieter one.
The inward storms.
The emotions that don’t explode outward but still demand to be reined in.
Apparently becoming an adult isn’t about taming one beast. It’s discovering there’s always another one waiting in the next pasture.
Being human is astonishing.
We have this incredible capacity for love, generosity, courage, sacrifice, forgiveness, friendship. Entire libraries have been written trying to explain what makes people choose goodness over selfishness.
And somehow, one of the greatest gifts in that journey is another person who simply refuses to let you settle.
Someone who reminds you—sometimes without even trying—that you can be better than you were yesterday.
That’s what Ferryman has become for me.
A reminder.
An encouragement.
A friend who makes me want to become the kind of man others can trust. The kind who brings peace instead of turmoil. Hope instead of cynicism. Contentment instead of complaint.
None of us become that person alone.
So tonight, I’m raising my glass.
To fifteen years of friendship.
To honest conversations.
To brothers who tell the truth.
And to you, Ferryman.
Thank you, my friend.