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How many friends do you have? Do you have any idea anymore? Or do you even know what the word “friend” means now?

I ran across a discussion earlier today among funeral directors about how many people typically attend funerals. Although they all knew of some large and showy funerals, most were more familiar with the ones at which few people showed up.

One guy said that 10 to 15 people was typical for him. Another thought it might be closer to 40. But the numbers were shockingly small, except in cases of large, close-knit families with a lot of local relatives.

How many Facebook “friends” do you have? It’s bothered me for years that the folks at the company use that word, because their idea of friends is very different than mine. At one point, I had 5,000 Facebook “friends” — which is the limit for a personal account — and even after aggressively deleting and blocking people for years, I still have about 500.

But how many of those people are really my friends? How many would show up at my funeral?

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I’ve spent most of my life learning to let go of the things I thought were important.

My father almost turned me into a narcissist. Just like him. I didn’t know that, of course. He didn’t know that, either. I didn’t understand he was a narcissist, because I didn’t even know what clinical narcissism was. It never would have occurred to me, because my father — the god-like central figure of my childhood — was my standard for all that was right and normal.

I’ve spent my adult life on a long journey of recovery. It started while I was still in my late 20s when I vaguely realized something was wrong. That led to the realization that I had come from a very dysfunctional family. But I still had so many layers of dysfunction to take apart — and I had so much to learn in order to become an emotionally healthy adult.

Even now, I keep finding more habits to unlearn. I keep realizing that I have beliefs that need to change. But as I take apart the old pieces of ugly dysfunction — brick by brick — I slowly replace them with something better.

I’m slowly becoming an emotionally healthy man.

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It was nearly 12 years ago. I had come back to see a psychologist with whom I’d been in therapy before. I had just ended a romantic relationship in a very confusing way — and I needed to understand why.

I laid out the facts for the psychologist about what had just happened. I explained my confusion. Why had I ended the relationship — but then wanted her back after she finally gave up and walked away from me? Was I crazy or what?

She listened for most of that hour and then gave me a little bit of feedback and asked a few follow-up questions. At one point, she said — as though it was the most obvious thing in the world — that this woman with whom I’d been in love had come from a dysfunctional and troubled past, but hadn’t dealt with it.

I didn’t think I’d said anything that would lead to that conclusion, so I expressed surprise.

“Oh, I don’t know what her issue is yet,” she said, “but she wouldn’t have been attracted to you — and you couldn’t have been attracted to her — if she didn’t have issues just as serious as yours. People are attracted to others who are about as emotionally healthy as they are, whether they know it or not.”

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