My Friend Ben

Every once in a while, someone comes into your life who shifts the energy around you in a way that’s impossible to ignore. For me and my family, that person has been Ben.

We first met him at CrossFit. He’d come to the 7 PM class on his own, always smiling, always positive—even when I wasn’t exactly in the mood to be there. There’s something about his energy that fills the room.

Pretty quickly, we built this little workout banter between us. He’d make his “whoop” sound when he passed a certain point in a WOD, and I’d come right back with my “What what!” It turned into our thing. People laughed, it created a spark, and suddenly class felt lighter.

In time, I learned more about Ben. He’s a pilot, with a wife and a young daughter. He’s got a lot on his plate, but you’d never know it. He just shows up, positive and present. One night after class, he noticed I was wearing a Greenland Sharks t-shirt and asked about it. I explained who we were and what we did. Without hesitation he said, “I want to be a Greenland Shark!” And just like that, he was one of us.

Ben dove in the way he does everything—with enthusiasm. At our Four Square Smackdown (yes, the elementary school game, but way more competitive than he expected), he showed up ready to “kick all our butts.” At album listening night—when it got canceled—he texted me a simple “Boooooo,” which I instantly understood. He didn’t want to miss out. That’s Ben: all in, every time.

When those plans fell through, I suggested we head to my favorite bar in Chicago. So, my wife and I met him and wound up at Best Intentions. He could care less about being a third wheel. Watching him walk in was priceless—his eyes lit up like he’d just stepped into another world of Elevated Wisconsin Basement. Burgers, fries, drinks, laughter. Then my daughters showed up unexpectedly, and the night rolled forward in the best way. We told him if he wanted the “full Baumeister experience,” he had to go with us to Late Bar, an alternative ‘80s video bar. We go straight to the big screen dance floor in the back and Nina Hagen's New York New York comes on. Born in 1988, Ben didn’t know most of the songs, but he was game. He ordered a round of Malört and PBR for everyone. (his first Malört ever—initiation complete). Then Cabaret Voltaire came on, and suddenly we were all on the dance floor, moving with a goggled-eye guy in checkerboard nightshirt and every kind of character you can imagine.

That’s the thing about Ben: he is a character. He’s up for anything, he’s always positive, and he leads with joy. At Shark breakfasts, he’s the guy giving every dude a hug when he walks in. No hesitation. Just care.

And here’s what I’ve realized—Ben is 23 years younger than me. For most of my life, I thought big age gaps made true friendships harder. But Ben has proven me wrong. Friendship isn’t about years; it’s about connection, trust, laughter, and care. He’s shown me that being open, confident in who you are, and willing to show up is what really matters.

I’m grateful Ben is a Shark. But more than that, I’m grateful he’s my friend.