The Unexpected Hero: A Friendship That Redefined "Relationship Goals"
How We Met: A Story in Two Parts (One Awkward, One Awesome)
Picture this: It’s my first big interview for a freelance gig. I’m sitting in a bustling café in Toronto’s Kensington Market, sweating through my only "serious writer" cardigan, attempting to look intellectual while mentally rehearsing the phrase “synergistic storytelling.” Enter Ryan. Or, more specifically, Ryan’s enormous backpack. It knocks over my latte, narrowly misses my laptop, and eliminates what little composure I had left.
Ryan, true to Ryan form, laughs—a big, unapologetic laugh—and offers to replace my coffee. “Unless,” he says, examining me with mock seriousness, “you were going to let it cool down for two hours and analyze it, like a true writer?” I snort-laughed. Ryan’s the type to make you do that within five minutes of meeting him.
We became fast friends from there. If life were scripted like a Judd Apatow movie, Ryan would’ve been the foul-mouthed, charming wildcard character whose unsolicited advice somehow works miracles. And, spoiler: that turned out to be scarily accurate.
The Lesson I Didn't See Coming
Ryan and I bonded over Toronto things: debating the best Chinatown dumplings, judging strangers’ graffiti choices, and embarking on late-night donut quests in our ridiculous quest for the best crullers in The Six. But beneath the banter and absurd food pilgrimages, Ryan had this strange superpower: he carried himself with the kind of unshakable authenticity I could only dream of.
I often found myself stuck in a loop of self-doubt, especially after leaving my 9-to-5 job to freelance—was I talented enough, brave enough, or even caffeinated enough to pull it off? Ryan, however, had no tolerance for my self-pity parties. Once, when I admitted I was scared I’d picked the wrong career path, he grilled me like a high-energy therapist.
“What’s actually stopping you?” he asked, tearing into a chocolate sourdough while I picked nervously at my black-and-white cookie (okay, I have predictable taste in desserts). “What are you really worried about? That you’re not good enough? Or that you’ll succeed and have to, I don’t know, actually work for it?”
Ouch, right? But he was right. Ryan had this way of cutting through all my fog of overthinking like those chefs on YouTube who perfectly slice through watermelons with samurai swords. Every time I came up with an excuse, he countered with evidence of why it was garbage. Honestly, it was infuriating. Yet, by the end of the conversation, I’d often find myself laughing and newly motivated—because Ryan wasn’t trying to fix me. He just wanted me to see that I already had what I needed.
How Ryan Changed My Relationships—and Maybe Yours
Here’s the thing: friendship doesn’t magically solve all your problems, but it can reshape how you approach them. Ryan taught me this annoyingly useful life mantra: stop performing for others, and do what’s real for you. Sounds simple, right? Except, if you’re anything like me, you’ve spent years curating a version of yourself you think will impress people.
His influence spilled over into my relationships, too. I was that guy who approached dating like a job interview. I’d hit every bullet point: good listener? Check. Funny anecdotes about my brief London stint? Check. But none of it was real—it was more like my Greatest Hits album, the version of me I thought people wanted.
Ryan's blunt wisdom flipped the script. On one memorable occasion, he caught me rehearsing a cute story I was planning to drop during a date. “Dude, why do you sound like a late-night infomercial?” he asked between bites of a poutine-slash-onion-ring-concoction that should honestly be outlawed. “Just be, like, yourself. If that’s not enough for them, do you really want to sit through apps and entrees pretending to be someone you’re not?”
Cue another laugh-snort from me and an immediate mental lightbulb. Dating isn’t about closing a deal; it’s about finding someone who gets you—your quirks, awkward pauses, jam-packed bookshelf of untouched classics, and your obsession with homemade ice cream. Once I truly internalized that, I stopped worrying about whether I was “winning” dates. I focused more on connection, less on my pitch-perfect façade.
What It Means to Show Up For Someone
As much as Ryan taught me to own my truth, he also redefined what it means to show up for the people you care about. He isn’t your typical, Hollywood-style “ride or die” who swoops in to save you when things go full soap opera. Ryan’s approach to friendship is quieter, infinitely more impactful.
I’ll never forget the day my first long-term relationship ended—a mutual breakup, mostly tears and shared playlists being awkwardly split. I told Ryan I was fine, truly meaning “please leave me alone, I would like to wallow dramatically under seven blankets.” But Ryan wasn’t fooled.
That evening, he showed up at my place with a pint of Baskin-Robbins’ Mint Chocolate Chip (he’s good like that), and said, “I’m not here to talk. I’m here to scream-sing Alanis Morissette or binge-watch Brooklyn Nine-Nine with you. Entirely dealer’s choice.” We ended up watching episodes of The Great British Baking Show while rating contestants’ frosting skills. And you know what? That night turned things around for me. Ryan didn’t require me to rehash every bleary detail of my breakup; he just reminded me I wasn’t alone.
Why Friendships Like This Are Worth Celebrating
Relationships get all the flashy shoutouts in movies, rom-coms, and those perplexingly emotional jewelry ads, but deep, unwavering friendships deserve their own spotlight. Ryan wasn’t perfect (does anyone really need to own that many novelty socks?), but his presence in my life was transformative.
He showed me it’s okay to ask hard questions, to crack inappropriate jokes when the timing feels sacredly unsacred, and to abandon your mask before the first act. He reminded me how rare it is to find someone who’s fully in your corner, even if they’re the first to poke a little fun. Honestly, his authenticity rubbed off on me. I started taking more risks—not just in my freelance work, but in how I approached everything, from friendships and relationships to my accidentally flamboyant condiment collection (seriously, why did I ever buy tamarind chutney?).
Final Takeaway: Find Your Ryan
If there’s one thing Ryan drilled into my over-analytic brain, it’s this: You don’t have to be some polished Instagram version of yourself to be worthy of real connections. Romantic, platonic, or otherwise, be the person watching people fail spectacularly at bread proofing with your friend on a Tuesday night. And if you’re lucky enough to know someone who sees through your carefully constructed nonsense and shows up anyway—cherish them.
Because that’s the rare kind of person who isn’t just in your life—they help you change it. And trust me, the world could use a few more Ryans. Or, at least, fewer novelty socks.
