For the first years of my adult life, I considered friendship one of the greatest things in my life. I had friends—many of them—and spent time with them and enjoyed their company.
In 1978, however, after the third person said to me in less than a month, "You're my best friend," I didn't know how to process that information. The third person was the biggest shock because I hardly knew him. He was a member of our church, who was going through a serious career decision, and I spent time listening to him.
About that same time I met David, who became my best friend. Better, he became my first best friend. That's when I faced a startling reality: I had been "everybody's" best friend; I had no best friend.
I also realized that most of them knew things about me and saw me as open and transparent. I was—but only so far. Until I began to deal with my sexual molestation, I didn't know how to open the deeper part of myself.
I wasn't open to myself; how could I be open to others?