The Friend I Didn't Know I Needed

Capturing the Moment

I'm on a quick trip to Colorado for my friend Duey Freeman's 75th birthday. He picked me up at the airport Saturday night, and now it's Sunday morning, over breakfast at my hotel in Golden.

Duey and I found ourselves talking about something neither of us had examined before. Two men in their seventies, trying to figure out why neither of us has had what we'd call a best friend since... well, maybe never.

"I have friends, of course," I told him. "Work friends. Coffee buddies. Professional associates. Family. Kymberlee, whom I say is my best friend because that's what married people say."

He nodded. "Same here. Kimberly" - we always laugh about this coincidence, our wives sharing essentially the same name. "She's my partner, my love, my closest companion. But this thing we have, Mark, it's different."

We started mapping it out, just as we would solve a puzzle. Most men, we realized, don't have best friends. We have buddies. We have guys we grab coffee with, work alongside, maybe even vacation with.

But that person you call when your world shifts? That person you can say anything to? That person who shows up not because they should, but because they can't imagine not showing up?

Most of us don't have that. And here's the strange part - we don't miss it.

A Glimmer

After breakfast, we drove up the hill to his home to see his horses. He lives essentially on the side of a mountain, in a place heated by a wood stove and filled with mementos that make it cozy and welcoming.

Standing there with his three horses, watching him in his element at the Gestalt Equine Institute of the Rockies, I thought about all the connections I'd had over the decades.

Deep work partnerships with guys like Larry Barels and Bill Kovacs at Wavefront, where we built something revolutionary together, went through marriages, divorces, children, the whole messy, beautiful arc of life.

The intense bonds forged in restaurant kitchens under pressure, where you develop an almost telepathic understanding with your line cooks.

The hundreds of people I'd met through my TED experiences, rich networks of brilliant minds, and shared purposes.

I wasn't walking around feeling lonely or incomplete. Those relationships were exactly what they were supposed to be. Meaningful. Important. Real.

But this thing with Duey? It's an entirely different category of human connection.

How It Actually Started

The friendship that grew between us is something I'd never experienced before. It started five years ago through a mutual friend, Traver Boehm, who founded the MAN UNCIVILIZED movement. Traver thought we'd get along well and suggested we talk. He had no idea what would grow from that simple introduction.

We talked for the first time the following Saturday morning. When Duey had to go, we decided to talk the next week. By the third week, after about five minutes, I asked for permission to hit the record button.

That was the beginning of The Elder Council, 150 episodes ago.

The things we talk about are things we didn't know when we were 20, 30, 40, 50, and what we'd like to tell our younger selves. We get comments from people who say we "model" what best friends look like.

That wasn't intentional, but it shows.

The Public Declaration

Later that afternoon, I found myself in a living room in Littleton, surrounded by about thirty people celebrating Duey's 75th birthday.

They'd set up a microphone, and one by one, people were stepping up to tell their stories to Duey. Stories of transformation. Stories of breakthrough moments. Stories of how this man helped them find something they didn't even know they'd lost.

It felt like a celebration of life where the person is still alive.

When it was my turn at the microphone, I looked out at this room full of people who clearly love this man, and I said something that surprised even me:

"I bet I'm the only one who can say Duey is my best friend."

At 72 years old, I have my first real best friend. And I just told a room full of people about it.

The conversation we'd had that morning over breakfast suddenly felt prophetic.

What Made the Difference

Here's what I discovered: the structure matters.

Having a regular reason to go deep - not just hoping it would happen casually - changed everything. The podcast gave us permission to skip small talk and dive into what actually matters. It created a container for vulnerability that most male friendships never have.

With Duey, I can share anything - doubts about decisions I'm making, excitement about new projects, worries about family, even just random thoughts that pop up during the week. There's no j