Some of you may be familiar with Dunbar’s Number and the ideas it represents. Though there is hardly consensus that British anthropologist Robin Dunbar has the thing right, there is an intuitive sense that his broad strokes paint a picture of a reality we recognize. Dunbar’s number (150) suggests there are certain human capacities that limit the number of people in a series of relational circles, 150 being the most “meaningful” contacts any one of us might have. According to Dunbar, “the tightest (relational) circle has just five people – loved ones. That’s followed by successive layers of 15 (good friends), 50 (friends), 150 (meaningful contacts), 500 (acquaintances) and 1500 (people you can recognise). People migrate in and out of these layers, but the idea is that space has to be carved out for any new entrants.”

I have been thinking about Dunbar’s number on my slow morning runs through our neighborhood. The run itself has been especially delightful in recent days as the weather has cooled and the sun arrives just a bit later each morning, sometimes coloring the clouds in yellow, orange, and pink.

The morning run is thinking time with thoughts varying from the sublime to the ridiculous. I can be so lost in my thoughts that I lose track of where I have been. Did I jog down that cul-de-sac or not? An occasional car passes me, a worker on the way to his or her job or a student on the way to school, but mostly it is time alone, and that is good.

But almost every day since probably early spring, I have encountered the same up-at-dawn walker. Like me, he seems to be a person addicted to his routine.  I pretty much know when and where we will meet, he is heading south on his loop as I am heading north on mine. We may meet again as he walks north and I jog south.

Once it became obvious that we would pass each other most mornings, we began to acknowledge the other with a wave or a “good morning.” Nothing more because our morning constitutionals are meant to be solo times and not to be interrupted with stopping to chat. The greeting window is only a few seconds, but we use it well. There is something about his wave that is welcoming, his “good morning” that is kind.

Who is this man? We share a neighborhood, though I don’t know which house is his. We share a morning routine of getting out early for a walk or run. He is a couple decades younger than I am and walks at quick pace. We wave and say “good morning.”  I know nothing else about him. Is he married? Are there children at home? Is he a good husband and father? After his morning walk does he head to work, and if so, is he a responsible employee or a fair boss?

I sometimes think about meeting this man in the check-out line at Walmart, but I try to avoid Walmart as much as I can. We could strike up a conversation; “Hey, are you the one I pass each morning on the sidewalks of Bear Creek?” I wonder where such a conversation might go. Might we become friends? For now, though, we will just wave and say “Good morning.” Stopping for a morning chat would violate some unspoken protocol.

So, is my fellow early riser simply one of my 1,500 recognizable faces, or is he among my 150 meaningful contacts? I missed him and wondered where he was when I did not pass him earlier this week. That seems like more than a recognizable face.

In fact, I may never know much about the walker I pass heading north on Bear Creek Pass or south on Kodiak Trail.

In the meantime, however, God has blessed me richly with those 20 loved ones and good friends.

Proverbs speaks of a friend who sticks closer than a brother (Proverbs 18:24). Some commentators remind us that the saying points to Christ, and I believe it does. But it also reminds us to give thanks for those who day by day fill our lives with love and meaning.
It’s good to know that we have a friend.