A friend I hadn’t seen in months bumped into me at Starbucks.
I’d been standing in line waiting for coffee. There was a tap-tap on my shoulder. Turning around, I saw my friend, Brian, who, like me, had been a lawyer for over twenty-five years.
Accomplished and well-connected, Brian had a quiet composure that appeared to follow him wherever he went. I liked him. You could look into his eyes. And he would look attentively look back. He knew I had struggled with depression.
“How are you?” he said.
“Not so great,” I slumped.