Some Friends You Choose, Others Choose You

It was the December of my first semester at Howard University when I met Faith—yes, that’s her real name, and no, I couldn’t make this up if I tried. At the time, I was a wide-eyed freshman struggling to adjust to life in Washington, D.C. after spending eighteen years cocooned in the comforting boundaries of Dallas. Dallas, where even the air seemed friendlier, albeit Texas-humid, and where everyone wanted to know your last name and your Nana’s famous potluck recipe.

D.C., on the other hand, felt slick and sharp-edged. I’d gone from sweet tea sippin’ and “bless your heart”-ing to dodging bicyclists who seemed to have a personal vendetta against pedestrians. And while Howard was everything I dreamed it would be—a vibrant tapestry of Black excellence—I couldn’t shake the loneliness. Orientation week acquaintances had fizzled out like bad first dates, and my roommate spent most of her time with her boyfriend, who, for the record, did not grasp the concept of knocking. So, there I was: Ebony Lancaster, trying (and failing) to look busy in the cafeteria to avoid eating alone.

That’s when she showed up. Faith floated to my table with the sort of confidence normally reserved for Beyoncé descending from the heavens at Coachella. Without so much as an invitation, she plopped her tray down, looked me dead in the eye, and said, “That math professor looks like Denzel, doesn’t he? Not movie Denzel, but ‘I’ve been on vacation and ate good’ Denzel.”

I laughed—loud, ungracefully, and with my whole chest. And just like that, Faith pulled me out of my cocoon and into her orbit, changing the trajectory of my life in ways I never could’ve anticipated.

The Friend You Didn't Know You Needed

Faith wasn’t like anyone I’d met before. She had a knack for making the mundane seem magical. Need to walk to CVS for toothpaste? Faith would turn it into an adventure, complete with a running commentary on everyone we passed. Forgot to study for an exam? Faith would bring snacks, flashcards, and a wildly inappropriate playlist named "Cram & Jam." She somehow managed to be simultaneously chaotic and grounding—a confidante who made you feel like you could tell her the worst parts of yourself without fear of judgment.

What made Faith extraordinary wasn’t just her charisma or her ability to roast a bad outfit from fifty feet away. It was her unrelenting belief in people, in their potential, even when they didn’t believe in themselves. Case in point: my dreams of writing. I kept telling myself it wasn’t practical. Journalism? Sure. But writing? As in fiction? As in crafting stories for a living? Oh no, ma’am. That would never pay the bills—or at least that’s what the little voice in my head told me.

Faith had no patience for that kind of defeatism. "Ebony," she said one night, tearing into her Taj Mahal of Taco Bell orders, "the biggest mistake you could make is listening to advice from people who couldn’t dream as big as you do." Then she handed me a napkin and insisted I write down a scene idea I’d mentioned in passing (and yes, I still have that napkin tucked in my journal).

Faith was the person who pushed me to take my first creative writing course, who practically dragged me to open mic nights, who sat on the floor with me for hours picking apart MFA applications. She was not subtle about it either—imagine a mix between a motivational speaker and a WWE coach. There was no room for impostor syndrome around her.

How Friendship Shapes Love (And Everything Else)

Here’s the thing about people like Faith—they don’t just teach you how to live; they teach you how to love better. I don’t mean in the romantic sense, though I’ll admit she gave me some scathing side-eyes when I refused to drop a certain emotionally unavailable finance bro. (Spoiler alert: she was right.) Instead, Faith’s lessons were about how to love myself enough to demand better from everyone, including friends, partners, even myself.

Faith taught me that relationships, in all their forms, should lift you, not weigh you down. She had this way of asking, “Why are you settling for crumbs when you deserve the whole cake?”—a phrase that, in true Faith fashion, was always followed with evidence of how I’d been selling myself short. Bad date? “Girl, you already knew he was a dud when he chose a chain restaurant for a first date. A pick-me man being predictable.” Stuck in a toxic friendship? “Ebony, you don’t need everyone to like you. That’s like trying to blend oil and water—it’s cute in theory but messy in practice.”

Thanks to her, I started drawing better boundaries. I learned to stop bending myself into pretzel shapes just to accommodate relationships that didn’t reciprocate. And when love finally did come my way—in a form so unexpected and grounding it made me question why I’d ever entertained finance bro energy—I realized Faith had quietly been preparing me all along.

The Legacy of a Life-Changing Friendship

Faith and I don’t talk every day anymore. Life does that thing where it pulls you in different directions. She's killing it out west as a big-game lawyer in L.A., tackling social justice causes with the kind of fiery brilliance only she could bring. And me? I stayed in Texas, crafting stories and leaning into the life I was too scared to imagine before Faith came along.

But I carry her lessons with me. Every time I send a boundary-setting text, every time I walk into a room and remind myself that I belong there, every time I hear Aretha Franklin's "Young, Gifted and Black" and feel my power humming under the surface—I think of her. What Faith didn’t realize was that while she was so busy pouring belief into me, she was offering me a blueprint for how to do the same for others.

Your Faith Is Out There Too (And Maybe You’re Someone Else’s)

Not everyone meets a “Faith” the way I did, but life has a funny way of surprising you. Sometimes, the friend who changes your life might be sitting at the edges of your world, waiting for you to let them in. They might not show up proclaiming their love of post-vacation Denzel, but they’ll find their way to you eventually. Look out for the people who push you to dream in ways that scare you, who won’t let you settle for less than you deserve.

And when you find them, hold on tight. Because if there’s one thing Faith taught me, it’s this: the best relationships—whether friendships or romantic connections—aren’t about completing you. They’re about amplifying the you that’s already there.

So, here’s your challenge: If you haven’t already, be willing to sit at the table, metaphorically or otherwise, and invite someone new into your life. You never know which friend might just hand you a napkin and a piece of a dream. Faith might be waiting for you, or maybe, just maybe, you’re someone else’s Faith waiting to be discovered.