"He who walks with integrity
and practices righteousness,
who speaks the truth from his heart,
who has no slander on his tongue,
who does no harm to his neighbor,
who casts no scorn on his friend."
Some time ago, two girls were shopping in London. They saw Indian curries in a deli that would make one drool like Pavlov’s dog. So, they ordered a portion. When the assistant weighed them, they were shocked at the cost and ran out the shop when the assistant went to pack them.
Friendship is a bit like that, some friends find there way to us, but want what they can get from us, but then run when they get what they want. They are not prepared to face the cost. Do you find life like that?
As I grow older, I find myself increasingly disappointed in people. It’s not just about unmet expectations or personal setbacks—it’s something deeper, something fundamental about human relationships. The German word Torschlusspanik—the fear that life’s doors are closing—has begun to resonate with me. But my concern isn’t about missed milestones or unfulfilled ambitions. What I long for is something far simpler, yet paradoxically elusive: genuine human connection.
I don’t mean superficial friendships or transactional relationships where people linger only as long as there’s something to gain. I mean the kind of bond that exists purely for its own sake—where kindness, understanding, and companionship are given freely, without hidden motives. But the more I look, the rarer it seems to be.
Over the years, I’ve met people who, at first, appeared sincere—until their true intentions surfaced. Some were religious, eager to befriend me, only for it to become clear that their kindness was conditional, a means to an end. Others prided themselves on being open-minded, yet their tolerance quickly crumbled when confronted with ideas they didn’t like.
Then there are the ones who judge, convinced of their own infallibility, those who wield a little knowledge like a weapon, blind to their own limitations in a kind of Dunning— Kruger effect.
It’s disheartening, this realization that self-interest often overshadows genuine connection. But I refuse to let cynicism win. If anything, Torschlusspanik has had an unexpected effect—it has made me more determined to seek out the rare individuals who embody selflessness. These are the people who extend kindness without expectation, who listen without judgment, who show up simply because they care. They are the breaths of fresh air in an increasingly transactional world, proving that not everyone is keeping a tally.This journey hasn’t been easy, but it has been enlightening. It has forced me to ask myself difficult questions: Am I the kind of person I hope to find? Do I extend the same grace and sincerity that I seek in others? Am I willing to be open, honest, and kind, even if it isn’t always reciprocated?
The fear of doors closing—the nagging sense that time is slipping away—has, in a way, become a gift. It has pushed me to focus not on how many people I know, but on the depth of the connections I cultivate. It has reminded me that while true, altruistic relationships are rare, they are not impossible to find. And perhaps, just perhaps, as some doors shut, others are quietly opening—leading to the kind of meaningful human connections I’ve been searching for all along.
Some thoughts on friendship
O LORD, who may abide in Your tent?
Who may dwell on Your holy mountain?
He who walks with integrity
and practices righteousness,
who speaks the truth from his heart,
who has no slander on his tongue,
who does no harm to his neighbor,
who casts no scorn on his friend,
who despises the vile
but honors those who fear the LORD,
who does not revise a costly oath,
who lends his money without interest
and refuses a bribe against the innocent.
He who does these things
will never be shaken.
Psalm 15, (BSB).