Jonathan Meyer.

Being able to overcome adversity is something I’ve always valued. I’ve prided myself on being solution-oriented, someone who can navigate challenges and come out steady on the other side. But every once in a while, something catches you off guard–not because you can’t handle it, but because you didn’t expect it to hit as hard as it does. That’s where this story begins–with my friend Zion.

When I first arrived at college in August 2023, I wasn’t the person I am now. The same could be said for Zion, though in a very different way. I remember meeting him at a cross country pool party, and to this day, I don’t think I’ve seen anyone move through a space quite like he did. He was literally swimming laps just so he could pop up and talk to different people around the pool–and somehow, that still doesn’t fully capture it. He had this natural confidence, this ability to make people feel included without trying too hard.

At the time, I was a lot more reserved. But even then, I could recognize something in him that I admired–his presence, his ease with people, his willingness to just be himself.

Zion is larger than life. He can fill a room without effort. But what makes him special is that he can also sit across from you in complete quiet and connect just as deeply. During times when I was dealing with my own adversity, we’d go for drives–usually ending with ice cream–and just talk. No pressure, no expectations, just real conversations.

On paper, we don’t exactly match. He’s an outgoing Puerto Rican guy from Colorado, and I’m about as Iowa as it gets. But somewhere in the middle, our perspectives aligned. I learned a lot from the way he carries himself, especially his openness and his ability to embrace the moment.

One of my favorite memories with him says everything you need to know. I picked him up from the airport one night, and what followed turned into five “dates” in a single evening. We got dinner, went to an arcade, grabbed ice cream, changed a blown tire on the side of the road, saw Wicked, and then drove the rest of the way back to campus. It was chaotic, spontaneous, and somehow completely natural–just two guys who genuinely enjoyed each other’s company and didn’t feel the need to limit the moment. But like a lot of things in college, time moved fast.

As the months passed, Zion and I drifted a bit. Not because anything was wrong–just life. Schedules change, priorities shift, and before you know it, someone who used to be part of your daily routine becomes someone you don’t see nearly as often.

Then I found out he was leaving.

Zion had decided he needed a change, a different direction for his day-to-day life, and that meant continuing his education somewhere else. It was disappointing to hear, but at the same time, it made sense. He’s the kind of person who doesn’t sit still when he knows something needs to change–and more importantly, he’s the kind of person who has the courage to act on it.

His last week in Iowa, we made time to get dinner–him, my roommate Chris, and me. We spent a few hours together, just talking and being present. Nothing extraordinary on the surface, but meaningful in a way that’s hard to explain. At the end, we took a picture, exchanged handshakes, and shared one of those hugs that says more than words ever could. Then we went our separate ways.

On the drive back, Chris and I didn’t say much at first. Then it hit us.

We’re juniors, about to be seniors. We just said goodbye to a friend who lives across the country. And for the first time, it really sank in–there’s no guarantee we’ll see him again. That’s a tough realization, especially when you’re used to seeing someone almost every day.

College surrounds you with people from everywhere–different states, different backgrounds, different lives. Even Chris, sitting next to me, is from California. And suddenly, you realize how temporary all of it is. That’s the part no one really prepares you for. The friendships feel permanent while you’re in them, but the time you actually get together is limited.

What I’ve come to understand is this: the memories you make with people will stay with you for a lifetime, but the opportunity to make those memories is fleeting. Since the day I met Zion, I’ve respected him–not just for who he is, but for the way he lives. Fully present, unapologetically himself, and willing to take chances when it matters. And maybe that’s the lesson in all of this.

If you truly care about the people around you–if you value what they bring into your life–you can’t assume there will always be more time. You have to show up now. Say yes to the extra conversation, the late-night drive, the spontaneous plan. Because one day, without much warning, those everyday moments become the ones you miss the most. And when that time comes, you’ll be grateful you didn’t wait.

Until my next unexpected life lesson, I’m Just Jonathan.