I have been fortunate to count DB among my friends for nearly forty years. Three years my senior and trained in both the arts and the sciences, she is a brilliant communicator—smart, opinionated, deeply principled, and an endlessly engaging conversationalist. We see the world very differently, which is one of the reasons our friendship has endured. Our differing perspectives make for lively conversations and an ongoing exchange of ideas.
Today we live about 12 hours apart, but from time to time our travels bring us into each other’s towns. Whenever that happens, we make a point of getting together to break bread and catch up.
I suspect that people who see us sitting together in a restaurant probably assume we are a couple. They may even conclude that we are on a date.
That realization, which took place during one of our many dinners at a restaurant, prompted us to discuss the very question: What actually constitutes a date?
I asked her, “Are we on a date right now?” We both knew the answer was no. But the more interesting question followed: “If someone watching us would reasonably think we were on a date, what is it that actually makes a date…a date?”
Her answer struck me as exactly right.
“The reason we are not on a date,” she said, “is because neither of us is sizing the other up. We aren’t internally evaluating whether this relationship should become something more. We already know where we stand. We are close friends, and neither of us has any intention of moving the relationship toward romantic exclusivity. The boundaries are clear. It would only be a date if one or both of us were exploring whether the relationship should become something deeper.”
I thought that was a remarkably insightful distinction.
From the outside, our dinner may have all the visible characteristics of a date. Two unmarried people sharing a meal, talking, laughing, and enjoying each other’s company certainly looks that way. But appearances alone do not define reality. The defining characteristic of a date is not the restaurant, the conversation, or even the companionship. It is the shared intention to explore the possibility of a romantic relationship.
Our friendship contains none of that. What it does contain is something every bit as valuable: mutual respect, trust, affection, loyalty, intellectual companionship, and the comfort that comes from a friendship tested over four decades.
Perhaps that is the larger lesson. Our culture sometimes assumes that whenever a man and a woman spend meaningful time together, romance must be lurking just beneath the surface. But some relationships are richer precisely because they are not romantic. They are simply enduring friendships—steady, uncomplicated, and deeply rewarding.
Those friendships deserve to be recognized for what they are. They are among life’s quiet blessings, and their value is beyond measure.
