Well, he’s more like a mild acquaintance. Hung out a bunch of times in groups, small talk at coffee shops and the occasional text.
But when Nate is playing guitar for Katy Perry tomorrow during the half time show at the Super Bowl, he will become my best friend. The people I’m watching with will be in reverential awe of my nonchalant yet totally overstated connection with Nate (or does he like to be called Nathan, can’t remember).
I will throw out a short story about our adventures, maybe some insight on where he got his tattoos. I will impress. Nate, me. Nate, me. Nate, me.
What I’m trying to get fellow onlookers to understand is that because Nate and I are now best friends, that means I am at least very good friends with Katy Perry.
Ahhhhh, me, Nate, Katy. Best friends from childhood.
I will pre-apologize to the host of the party I’m at for the possibility of paparazzi lurking around the house trying to snap a pic of me watching N and K.
All of this will qualify me to demand someone else go get me some more cheese dip from the kitchen, because my closest and dearest friends on TV would be sooooo upset if I missed the moment they’re going to wink into the camera at me.
The half time will end and I will be melancholy because even though I did a great job performing…I mean even though Nate-mon and Kazzy did a great job performing, I know in their hearts (as they’ve shared theirs with me, often), they always want to stay on stage “just a couple more minutes”.
Ok, here’s the deal. When you succeed, everyone you’ve ever known succeeds with you. Everyone feels lifted and inspired, like more is possible. Everyone is proud.
Any little, tiny inkling of association a person has to someone they view as successful is a bright spot in their life and is grounds for building hope.
So thanks, Nate.
From, Nashville.
