Patterson's 50th class. I'm on the right, not knowing anyone standing around me. This is no longer true.
In August 2009, I met several dozen new people who like me had parachuted into Lexington, Kentucky to study at the Patterson School of Diplomacy and International Commerce.
I remember staring at the faces, jostling among them as we stood for the new class photo, and wondering if I would ever get to know them better.
I did. Much better. Some, arguably, too much.
With all due respect to the program and my professors, this group is why I went to Kentucky. Yes, I wanted a piece of paper declaring me a Master in something. But what I wanted, what I needed was to meet people from the world outside my established networks that often seemed to inhabit South Dakota and Minnesota with a small Egyptian wing.
I wasn’t looking to cynically network, although I’m well aware of the value of friends to my professional life thus far. I was, however, looking for new friends, with new experiences, who could challenge me and force me to measure up.
I didn’t expect to forge the friendships I did. I’ve got people now, people for whom I would do nearly anything. People I’ve held while they cried, and people who marveled me with their wit and intelligence, people who sharpened my skills until my arguments drew blood.
I’m humbled to have met them all, and I’m honored to call them my friends.
Now most of us have left Lexington, shot out into our futures like missiles. If my past experiences with true friends holds true, we’ll meet again.
The graduating class. Mapping the invisible connections between these people would make for a dense diagram.
Despatches | {Wyoming} 