We all know That Guy, she says with a sly smile, who has no idea what he’s doing. Don’t be That Guy.

That Guy, she says, who skips the stone without regard for the ripples that cause the tsunami.
That Guy, for whom we buy pom poms and paint posters, just to see he benched himself again.
That Guy, who buys pom poms and paints posters for us, just to see he missed the game by a day.

But what about the That Guy, who skips the stone without regard for the ripples that cause the wave we catch and ride on a day of dismal waters?

That Guy, who buys pom poms and paints posters for us one day late, who remind us that losing sucks, but hey, at least we have That Guy?
That Guy we’ve barely ever spoken to, who as we walk away from a random friendly run-in one afternoon, shouts after us that he likes our blogs?
That Guy, who instead of sensibly telling us to go to sleep, talks us through the anxieties of time differences at 3:45 AM?

Yeah, That Guy may be a girl or a boy. That Guy may be an idiot for skipping stones without regard for whom they may hit. That Guy may be a tweeter, a copywriter, a best friend, a tourist photographer, or even an elevator hummer. And That Guy has no idea what he’s doing. That Guy has no concept of the grins, the giggles, the glimmers, or the pushes up the hill he’s given me.

It occurred to me recently that I’m That Guy Who Takes Those Guys for Granted, and no one wants to be that kind of That Guy.

So thank you, That Guy, although you have no idea who you are. I aspire to be you.