A little over two years ago, two friends and I decided to take a stroll down memory lane by examining, in excruciating detail, our favorite rock 'n' roll band from our late adolescence. For those who believe that the only meaningful music was made in their own generation, let me state for the record that I beg to differ. Still, more interesting than the actual musical exploration has been the recounting of our personal and familial histories and the relationship that the three of us have formed over the Internet.

Understand that I am the connective tissue between the three of us. Both friends are actually my friends, or at least that is how we started out. Now some 27 months later, it is safe to say that my two friends have become friends too.

Before our musical sojourn and subsequent dialogue, each friend occupied a discreet time in my life. I met friend No. 1 on the playground of my third-grade year, and we remained close for the next eight — until a reunion of sorts three years ago. I met friend No. 2 in a bowling alley when I was 16, and we have remained friends ever since. While both knew of each other and even met on a few occasions, they had never spent any meaningful time together. Separated by two distinct periods in my life and now the Pacific Ocean, the likelihood of rectifying this seemed slim until friend No. 1, knowing our shared love of music, suggested the analysis.

Through the music, we have explored the major events and themes of our lives. We have relived tragedies, celebrated victories, lamented losses and through it all become friends — all three of us. I have been impressed by the emotional honesty, depth of thought and sense of humor by my two friends. They have shared their stories not just with me, but with each other, and in the process I have learned what it is to be part of a story, but not the story. This looking-glass perspective is humbling and yet affirming and challenges the inherent narcissism of the human condition in general and my own egocentricity in particular. I am part of something bigger than myself; I belong and have a home in another's story.

There has never been a clear distinction for me between friend and family. The two occupy the same space in my life and in my heart. In fact, I feel closer to some friends than I do to family and of course closer to family than I do to many friends. This may seem wrong to some, but it makes sense to me. Families of choice, including our life partners, adopted children, and good friends, are every bit as important as those defined by blood. And blood, regardless of the type, is best defined by the stories we share.