I used to stress out over some of the silliest things, like, was I a good enough manager at work? Was I doing enough to be a supportive husband? Would my teenage daughters turn out okay? Would I ever cure my banana slice drives off the tee? (Answer to that last question: No.)
But then I met somebody who helped me put so many aspects of my life into proper perspective. His name is Buddy. I’ve known Buddy for the past eight years. He’s starting to get up there in age. I’m not sure how many more years he has left, to be honest.
I’ve never seen him shave. He seems to wear the same outfit every day. He prioritizes comfort over fashion. Buddy has never been one to be concerned with impressing other people. He doesn’t care if others judge him for his lackadaisical lifestyle. He is comfortable in his own skin. Buddy leads a simple, modest life.
Nowadays, since I’m retired, and I’m pretty sure Buddy doesn’t work anymore either, we see each other often. He’s never been into accumulating tech toys, expensive clothes, or watches. He never pursued getting a driver’s license, so he can’t even legally drive. As far as I know, he doesn’t travel much. At least he’s never mentioned any trips to exotic locations. He’s never been to Disneyland, nor has he expressed any deep desire to visit the Grand Canyon. He’s pretty much a homebody, from what I can tell.
Buddy’s needs are simple. He doesn’t brag about his latest achievement. He never talks rudely or arrogantly around women. He doesn’t drink or smoke. He’s no gourmet, but he wouldn’t turn down a good New York steak if you offered it to him.
In our visits, Buddy has helped me realize what’s important in life – and what isn’t. He comes by now and then and, with a gentle glance, reminds me to take a deep breath and relax. If he had a mantra, it would be four words: “Don’t Worry. Be Happy.” The way my friend sees it, nothing on my list of worries is all that pressing, anyway. Whatever it is I’m currently obsessing over, it can’t be that important. Or if it is, it will pass soon enough. Keep reminding me about that, okay, Buddy?
I often wonder how Buddy lets the worries of life just glide over him, like water off a duck’s back. He never complains about any of his ills, even when his arthritic legs are acting up, and it’s hard for him to take long walks. He’s unflappable and takes everything in stride. I admire this about him. I want to be more like Buddy. I need to acquire his indefatigably calm perspective on life’s ups and downs.
Over the past several years, we’ve become extremely close. When I share some of the things I have been working on, Buddy never interrupts me. He’s a better listener than a talker. He never discusses his own troubles. He is the least self-absorbed, most well-adjusted fellow I’ve ever known. When you’re in his presence, his entire focus is on you. And in minutes, all my cares and worries seem to melt away.
Buddy doesn’t move as quickly as he used to. His walk has slowed to somewhere between a saunter and an amble. These days, he enjoys relaxing in his big comfy chair and soaking in the sun. There have been times when I was so busy that I didn’t slow down long enough to reach out to him to say hi. But he never seems to hold a grudge about those sorts of things. When we finally reconnect, he’ll just look at me with the kindest eyes, and I know he’s just glad to see me again.
I don’t know how much longer Buddy will be around. I’ve noticed he’s been moving a lot slower lately. And I can tell he’s in pain sometimes, especially when he gingerly attempts to negotiate stairs. But he never complains. He just accepts his lot in life, never choosing to play the victim. Buddy has taught me to be a more patient, calm, and grateful human being. He has taught me to be more forgiving of others and not to worry about things I can’t control.
I think about the fact that someday before too long, Buddy will probably pass away. When that day comes, I will miss him terribly. But until then, I’m grateful to have him in my life. And at the end of every day, I look forward to lying in bed, knowing that in a few minutes, Buddy will quietly meander into my bedroom, and lie down next to me. And my wife doesn’t mind it a bit. After all, Buddy’s her cat, too.
PS: Oh, about the photo at the top of this article. That’s a dear friend of mine named Charlie. He’s a great guy. Hope that wasn’t confusing.
That’s the view from the bleachers. Perhaps I’m off base.
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One of my favorite photos of my sister Betsy, with one of the many dogs she rescued and loved deeply.
My closest friend is my wife Michele. We’ve been married for 37 years. She is my rock, my partner, a patient and involved mother to our two daughters, and someone who has put up with my lame, sophomoric humor far longer than anyone should have to endure. Everybody tells her she must be a saint to still be married to me (either that or a masochist).
But for most of my life, my second best friend has been my sister, Betsy. She was born three years after me. Tragically, in 2021, amid a mounting toll of increasingly unrelenting physical and mental health challenges, she finally lost her battle fighting lifelong depression. She died of suicide.
A day does not go by that I don’t think about my sister. But with each passing month, my deep grief has slowly made room for happier memories of the many wonderful adventures (and misadventures) we had together. I once wrote a serious piece called Twelve Teachers, in which I shared my observations about twelve people who have most powerfully impacted my life for the better. Betsy was at the top of that list.
We were the two youngest of five children. As a result, we spent more time together than with our three elder siblings. Betsy became the historian of my childhood, years later remembering minute details about things and people about which I had long since forgotten.
I have always been a bit risk averse. That was never Betsy’s constraint. She never minded making a complete fool of herself if it would bring laughter to someone else. She relished pushing the envelope to try new things.
One time, the two of us, along with a friend, went to an amusement park. Betsy saw that they had a bungee jump attraction. You wear a harness and are then hoisted up by a cable until you are dangling some 200 feet above the ground before being jettisoned into the open air below.. You’ have to be insane to attempt this – or be Betsy. She did it, while my friend and I looked on in near terror, and she kept laughing riotously as she bounced up and down.
Betsy and me (yes, that’s me with a beard) after our almost disastrous misadventure skydiving. It was all Betsy’s idea.
When we were both at Ohio State (me for graduate school and Betsy for undergraduate), she begged me unrelentingly to join her in taking a one-day skydiving course. I will never forget the churning emotions I felt as I watched my younger sister voluntarily jump out of a plane at 5,000 feet– only to do the same myself moments later. That was Betsy – always pushing herself – and me – beyond our comfort zones just to have a new story to tell.
When we were both in our twenties, Betsy persuaded me to join her backpacking through Europe. We hopped on trains, sometimes without a clear plan for where our next destination would be. Over two months, we explored France, Germany, Switzerland, Austria, Ireland, and more. It is because of Betsy that to this day, I have a love of traveling the world.
Betsy continued to travel on her own or with friends in the decades to follow. Like me, she had her own Grumpy teddy bear that she would take with her. We would compete for who could take our Grumpy to more exotic destinations, me taking a photo of my Grumpy in China, Betsy matching me with a photo of her Grumpy atop Machu Picchu. This went on for decades.
Betsy after her appearance on NBC’s TODAY SHOW, With Katie Couric and Betsy’s twins, Kevin and Tyler.
Betsy had twins in 1990, and nine years later, on their 9th birthday on 9-9-99, she found a way to get on NBC’s The Today Show because of it. It involved a mishap caused by my overly aggressive driving (no one was hurt). Only Betsy could find a way to get on national TV for having twins. But she did. If you’re curious as to the backstory, you can read my article here.
Betsy found joy and laughter in everyday life – baking cookies for new neighbors, babysitting a neighbor’s dog for them if they were out of town. She had a contagious laugh that is impossible to describe. But when she broke out in hysterical laughter – sometimes when she had made a deeply embarrassing mistake – it was impossible not to join her for the ride and get caught up in her exuberant fit of laughter.
More than anyone I ever knew, Betsy could find ways to create joyful chaos and silliness in the most unexpected situations. One time, we were at a water park, at the top of one of the water slides. Just as the park employee told Betsy it was safe for her to push off, Betsy looked back at me and shouted to me – loud enough for the employee to hear – “Tim, I have to tell you something. I want to break up” – right before she disappeared down the chute. The employee no doubt must have been mortified by someone “breaking up” in this seemingly cruel, insensitive manner. But that was Betsy’s wacky sense of humor.
July 2016: One of my happiest days ever with Betsy: a perfect sunny day on a ferry boat ride to Friday Harbor, San Juan Islands.
If you want to understand where I learned how to be juvenile, silly, and completely willing to embarrass myself in front of others, now you know the source: Betsy. One of the reasons I love to make people laugh is because of how effortlessly my sister demonstrated this talent throughout her life. Even when she was struggling with bouts of depression or anxiety, she could still find the humor in an otherwise difficult situation and make me laugh uncontrollably.
Betsy was also a teacher – one who deeply loved her students. For several years she taught English as a foreign language to adult immigrants. She went to extraordinary lengths to find creative ways to make her classes fun and engaging. This should not come as any surprise, but many of her students became long-term friends with her as a result, with many routinely inviting Betsy into their homes for meals.
Through her example, Betsy made me want to be a more caring, selfless person. Despite living a very modest life, always on the financial precipice, she was one of the most generous people I ever knew. She always thought about the needs of the people around her before herself. It was just how she was wired. In early 2021, less than two months before my sister’s passing, I came up with the idea of trying to get 100 people from all over the country to send our mom 100 birthday cards to celebrate her 100th birthday. My part was the easy part. Promote the idea on Facebook and in emails. But all the cards were mailed to Betsy to sort through and organize.
Betsy received over 400 birthday cards for our mom. She opened up every card and assembled several dozen posters displaying the overwhelming outpouring of kindness to our mom. But the incredible part was when I later learned that Betsy had taken the time to send most of these people a personal, handwritten thank-you letter for sending our mom a card. She wrote hundreds of thank you letters – most of them to complete strangers. Who does such a thing? My sister, that’s who.
My all-time favorite photo of me with Betsy, with the Golden Gate Bridge in the background. Nobody could make me laugh like she could. Nobody.
Betsy taught me the importance of expressing appreciation for the people who help us along the way. Nobody I’ve ever known had more friends than my sister. The only things she loved as much as the people in her life were her many cats and dogs she rescued over the years.
I learned so many life lessons from my sister: the importance of having close friendships, showing gratitude, giving to others without expecting anything in return, and finding laughter and joy in the most mundane or unexpected situations.
I am far from perfect. I have many flaws. Just ask my kids or anyone who knows me well. But I know this for a certainty: I am a better person because of the powerful formative role my sister Betsy played in shaping the man I am today. And I will always be grateful to her for that gift.
Sis, you will forever be in my heart.
[Note: If you, a loved one, or a friend is struggling with depression, anxiety, or other form of mental illness, a wonderful resource – and one our family has personally worked with – is NAMI, the National Alliance on Mental Illness. – TEJ ]
PS: If you enjoyed this week’s post, let me know by posting a comment, giving it aLikeorsharing this post on Facebook.
PS: If you enjoyed this week’s post, let me know by posting a comment, giving it aLikeorsharing this post on Facebook.
