I didn’t know it yet, but the day I met Farris—and yes, his name sounds like something out of a romance novel—my life was about to flip like a Sunday morning pancake. You see, I’ve had my fair share of transformative experiences: afternoons spent listening to my grandma recount Gullah Geechee tales, moving to Atlanta and feeling the history of Spelman’s grounds under my feet, even getting lost in the maze of Columbia University’s library stacks. But nothing reoriented my compass quite like Farris, the guy who made friendship feel like a masterclass in human connection.

The Not-So-Meet-Cute

I first encountered Farris during an impromptu poetry reading at this little underground spot in Charleston. I’d just returned home from grad school, all big-city weary but trying to channel it into productive “artistic angst.” Farris was this lanky guy in round glasses who looked like he could have a side hustle ghostwriting Kendrick Lamar lyrics. He started reciting a piece about collard greens and the weight of Southern legacy, and I stopped mid-sip of my overpriced chamomile tea. It wasn’t just good; it was soul-stirring, like someone had bottled up the emotions of every spiritual I’d ever heard growing up and poured it into words.

Cut to me awkwardly telling him afterward, “Hey, um, I loved your set. You said what I’ve been trying to say in my head for months.” His response? “You’re Ebony Johnson. I’ve read your column. You’re like the Ava DuVernay of Charleston, minus the Oscars.” Farris had a way of disarming you with both a compliment and a reality check, which would become his signature move in my life.

What Makes Farris, Farris?

Farris wasn’t just charismatic; he was the kind of person who could see the good, bad, and “girl, why are you like this?” in you—and love it anyway. He once described himself as “a professional pot-stirrer with a heart,” which essentially meant he’d ask you the tough questions while handing you a plate of shrimp and grits he’d personally cooked. (Seriously, the guy could run a Food Network show. The working title? Flirting and Frying.)

Now, let me set the record straight: Farris and I were never romantic, but in hindsight, he probably taught me more about being emotionally available than any of my past relationships. And yes, that includes the artist who ghosted me after a “life-changing” trip to Paris and the one guy who thought our love language should be text-only.

The Advice That Stuck

Every friendship has its greatest hits—those golden pieces of advice that echo in your mind long after someone’s walked into your life and rearranged the furniture of your soul. Farris handed out wisdom like Oprah hands out cars: with flair, intention, and a little unpredictability. Here are a few Farris-isms that hit harder than a Beyoncé bridge:

1. “Build Relationships, Not Performances.”

This one bruised my ego a little, but Farris wasn’t wrong. I had a bad habit of curating my life to impress people instead of actually connecting with them. “Stop treating your life like an open mic night,” he told me once while we were sitting on the seawall, the Charleston harbor shimmering behind us. “People don’t want polished; they want real.”

It hit me: Whether it’s dating, family, or close friendship, authenticity trumps perfection every time. Stop trying to be the highlight reel of your life. People adore the bloopers.

2. “Stop Expecting People to Read Your Mind.”

Farris had no patience for my passive-aggressive ways. Once, I was deep into day four of pouting over a forgotten coffee date when he texted me, “So, are you gonna tell me why you’re mad or keep us both in suspense? Either way, I’m charging you for the emotional labor.” (Yes, he was dramatic, and yes, I needed it.)

That callout did something rare—it made me laugh and self-reflect at the same time. In relationships of all kinds, waiting for someone to just “figure it out” is setting yourself up for disappointment. Speak your truth, even if it feels like you’re handing someone a loaded water balloon.

3. “Your Worth Isn’t Based on Someone Else Loving You.”

This one landed like a cymbal crash because—let’s get real—it’s easy to fall into the trap of viewing romantic validation as the ultimate confirmation you’re doing okay in life. Farris, in a rare moment of not being extra, laid it out simply during another one of his famous “we need to talk” conversations. “Ebony, love is a beautiful thing, but it isn’t a job qualification.”

He reminded me that my self-worth had deep roots in my history, my writing, my laughter… not in whether someone swiped right on me (or, you know, showed up for our date). That little revelation made dating a whole lot less stressful.

The Art of Showing Up

Farris wasn’t perfect—let’s not canonize him just yet. He was impossibly hard to make plans with, and his listening skills occasionally took a backseat to his debating hobby. But his brilliance lay in how he showed up when it counted.

When I felt stuck in my writing, Farris would pop by with his laptop, sit there silently, and somehow create the productive energy I needed to power through. Nor did he shy away from emotional heavy lifting. When my grandmother passed, it was Farris who parked his car outside mine for hours so I wouldn’t feel alone. His presence was like comfort food—a sweet potato pie of the soul.

The Takeaway

Here’s the thing about Farris: his superpower was showing me how to show up—not just for other people but for myself. He taught me that good relationships, romantic or platonic, are built on honesty, respect, and mutual effort. If someone changes your life for the better, hold onto them like a Lowcountry storm holds onto humidity.

So, to those of you reading this in search of the secret sauce to deeper connections, here’s my advice: Find your Farris. Or better yet, be one. Ask your friends the hard questions, laugh with them until your face aches, and stick around when life feels heavy. Then watch how it all comes full circle—how they’ll show up for you when you need them most.

If I learned one thing from my friendship with Farris, it’s this: Every great relationship—romance, friendship, family—is rooted in showing up authentically and unapologetically. Because at the end of the day, the best connections don’t just change your calendar. They change your life.