An Epiphany that Changed How I see Friendship Forever

A good while back, I ignored my friend and riding pal Barbara O’Connell’s insistence that I should meet her cousin who lived in Phoenix.  “You guys are the same age, you’re both nearing retirement, you each ride motorcycles, you’d get along great.”  I was certain her cousin Steve wasn’t looking for another male friend any more than I was.

But we did finally meet, on a motorcycle ride, and surprising the hell out of both of us – although not Barbara – we became almost inseparable for the next fifteen years, and remain close friends. We went on dozens of motorcycle rides together and in group rides, stuck close. We partnered on several business deals, went through a host of medical issues, including being the one to drag the other to the ER. We consoled each other on the death of a parent and celebrated finding a new love and partner. We babysat dogs and shared homes. If Steve Pittendrigh needs me, for anything, I will be there.  I know he’d say the same thing about me.

So, what is it about friendship and why do we have trouble sorting it out? A recent lunch with my car buddies shattered my comfortable assumptions about friendship and forced me to rethink what—and who—truly matters. Two individuals who in my mind were good friends turned out not to be. More details on what happened in a bit, but first some background.

In Sahil Bloom’s book, The 5 Types of Wealth, he suggests the most important riches in life aren’t found on bank statements or by counting Instagram likes. Instead, it’s the quality and depth of our relationships that matter: a concept he calls “social wealth.”

In his definition of social wealth he divides relationship factors into three elements: depth, breadth, and earned status.

“Depth” is about having a handful of people you can truly rely on, the ones who stick by you through hardship. “Breadth” reflects the broader network—community, colleagues, acquaintances—offering a sense of communal support and belonging. Lastly, “earned status” is the trust and respect you gain by being consistently supportive over time.

Science agrees. Harvard’s famous 85-year-long Study of Adult Development found that happiness and longevity are predicted not by wealth or fame, but by the strength of our relationships. People who have supportive friendships and family ties are healthier, happier, and live longer. In a world that prizes solitary hustle, building social wealth isn’t just pleasant—it’s essential.

Still, not all relationships are created equal, and Bloom offers an interesting way to think about the people in our lives: 1. roots, 2. branches, and 3. leaves. “Roots” are the rare individuals who provide steadfast support, even when you have nothing to offer. They’re the backbone—the family members and loyal friends who answer your call at midnight, listen without judgment, and weather the tough times with you.

“Branches” are people such as casual friends or work colleagues or neighbors: helpful for support or growth, but not always dependable when storms hit. “Leaves”—acquaintances, party friends, Facebook or LinkedIn connections—are pleasant and fleeting, rarely present when life gets hard.

The error I made in the story that follows, was mistaking breadth for depth. I assumed someone was a “root” or a “branch” on my tree, treated them as such, but then learned I was only a “leaf” on theirs.  I was missing this clear-eyed assessment that Bloom identified, knowing who are part of a select few relationships where real loyalty, vulnerability, and presence is found.

So, what happened? From where did my epiphany come? A month before the launch of my new book, an autobiography, (My Heart Has Been In It From The Start), I was attending a monthly lunch with 6-8 guys who’ve managed to meet almost every month for over ten years. It had begun with Lotus automobile aficionados, but several regular attendees have died or moved away. While closer to some in the group, I considered all of them good friends and enthusiastically invited them to attend the book launch event that would be held in about 3-4 weeks at a popular auto museum. The event would feature a signed copy of my book, private access to the museum, as well as food and drinks. Although not required, I was asking for a $100 donation with a percentage of the money going to an Arizona foundation that aids parents who’ve lost a child – the MISS Foundation.

After I’d excitedly explained the event, I got the gut kick. One of the group said, “Not for me, book signings aren’t my thing.” I was shocked and heard myself reply, “It’s not about being ‘your thing,’ it’s about supporting a friend.” If this individual had invited me to attend his nephew or niece’s grade school band concert, I’d have been there in a heartbeat, I saw him as a friend I would support. While grade school band concerts are “not my thing,” showing up for my friends IS my thing.

The book signing was a massive success with nearly double the expected attendees, so this individual was not missed. But he’s now chosen not to return to our lunch group, and for a while, I felt sad about that. But then Sahil Bloom’s book crossed my desk, and I’m no longer upset or offended.  In fact, I was pleased to learn where this individual placed my “friendship” in his life. Clearly, much lower than I’d valued his friendship.

While social media connections and networking opportunities give the illusion of social abundance, having 200 “friends” means little if none of them will remember your birthday, let alone stand by you when you make a request. It caused me to expand my definition of “friends,” and to realize many of my “friends,” aren’t really my friends at all, they’re just along for the ride when it’s fun, convenient, or has value for them.

Besides Steve Pittendrigh who I started this article with, many other individuals have demonstrated deep commitments to our shared friendship – Bill Young at the Prodigy Services Company who flew from NYC to Los Angeles for my son’s two-hour memorial service, and then flew home. Randy Nash took on the task of painting my Lotus Elan when I couldn’t afford to have it done professionally. Cousins John Gravley and Ron Herem have bailed me out and been there for me in hundreds of ways. In 2023, the three of us even traveled together for 2 weeks to visit our shared family ancestral homeland.

I have ridden with several groups of motorcycle riders over the years. Some follow a strict “never leave your wingman,” sort of loyalty. They wait at every turn until all in the group have passed before proceeding on.  A few others, not many, appear to forget anyone is following them soon after the ride begins. They can’t be bothered to ensure the individual riding behind them does not get lost.

Bloom fails to address “proximity” friendships which an early reviewer of this piece noticed was missing.  These are neighbors or professional colleagues with whom we share a deep friendship based on proximity and helping each other. From rides to/from the airport, shared dinners, house/kid/pet sitting, these relationships have high value. Yet, when proximity is removed, these relationships fade over time.

Since my epiphany, I’ve reflected on those who have demonstrated genuine “root” friendships, and begun to focus more of my time on relationships that truly matter. As Bloom would say, I’m no longer wasting energy expecting deep loyalty from “branches” or “leaves.”  My wakeup call was to do a better job of nurturing my “root” relationships, treating these relationships as I would other high-value assets: with attention, intention, and care. I’ve identified these close friends and relatives, the ones I really care about and have begun reaching out to them more frequently. It’s not hard, I send check-in texts and make calls and take every opportunity to visit in person. I work at being involved and celebrating when someone has a win, like a 50^th wedding anniversary.

I also am working at setting boundaries with the “branches” and “leaves.” This is not as much fun, but just as necessary. This mindset means I’m no longer afraid to prune relationships that are draining or unhealthy. Not every connection deserves a primary place in my heart—or on my calendar. Being selective isn’t cold; it’s wise, especially when time and emotional energy are limited resources.

Building genuine social wealth is not easy. Our modern culture of “busyness” can turn relationship-building into another line on our to-do lists, rather than a lived value. Social time is a necessity, not a luxury. The social media-driven illusion of connection can make it harder to reach out authentically or risk vulnerability. Yet, as science shows, shared struggles and honest conversations are the crucible in which genuine connections are formed. Showing up—when someone is sick, grieving, or has a problem—cements trust in a way that little else can. Celebrating their wins and joys builds a foundation of pride and gratitude.

So much of contemporary life urges us to hustle harder, build bigger networks, and perfect our personal brands. My recent experience is a reminder that none of that matters if you’re missing the point: social wealth is one of the truest, most enduring types of wealth. To invest time and care into your closest relationships is to secure dividends in joy, health, and meaning—returns that truly last.

In the end, it’s not about how many people you know. It’s about how well you know, and are known by the few who matter most. This is what makes life not just successful, but genuinely rich.