I first set foot in Saudi Arabia in 1985. I was a young engineer with a head filled with romantic images of Peter O’Toole riding a camel across the dusty, hot wasteland. Naturally, I was a little disappointed with the Chevy Suburban my company had outfitted for members of the royal family. The Saudi princes and their cousins liked to go hunting with hawks and they needed transportation that was equipped to handle the desert. Camels would have done well enough, but a Suburban tops out on a straight desert road at about 130 MPH (more on that another day…) gas was practically free, and they had air conditioning.

Camels are much slower, stop inconveniently at random moments, smell pretty rank most days, and leave you exposed to boil your brains in the sun. Plus, our Chevy trucks were equipped with special phones that allowed a young prince to call home to let mom and dad know they were going to be late for dinner, call their investment broker, or arrange a tryst in London.

In 1985 most phones were rotary dialers and touch tone phones were had in really high end hotels and businesses. There were no cell phones. So a car with a phone that could call from the middle of the desert to any place on earth was an amazing thing. So amazing in fact, that only a rich prince could afford the luxury. The car, the phone, the radios, the talented engineers to build, test, and maintain the gear. Not $100. Not $1000. Try hundreds of thousands of dollars.

Last week I spoke with one of my clients in Cambodia. He works in the capital city of Phnom Penh. We spoke for an hour about his dysfunctional board of directors, his inexperienced management team, and his plan to navigate through a politically charged re-capitalization. Our entire conversation was held while I sat outside a coffee shop where my wife was watching a singer-songwriter perform. I was speaking on my iPhone using the Skype application, running over the free wifi that the coffee shop offered. My client sat in his office, with a headset plugged into his laptop. The call quality was crystal clear and it cost nothing.

Oh yes, I had spent $400 for my iPhone. He had spent $500 for his PC. Both devices perform many useful functions. But our call itself – free. Not one penny.

Skype on the iPhone is a beautiful thing!

Wilbur is a friend of mine. Well not really. At least not as “friend” is usually defined. He isn’t the first person I call when I get good tickets to a ball game. I couldn’t call on him to bail me out of jail or watch my kids when I needed to take my wife to the hospital. But Wilbur and I get along pretty well.

We are Mutt and Jeff.  He is 6’8” when slouching; and I am 5’8” if I stand with proper posture. He is a highly respected public figure; I am a minor character actor in the Seattle business arena. He has made a large fortune, has sent his kids to private school, and could fund a small country for years; I have made just enough money to send my kids to college and then live a decent retirement with my wife. Yet Wilbur and I get together for a lunch or breakfast every six to twelve months. We trade stories about raising kids, running a company, or the trials of being married for a long time. I don’t see him very often, but we always enjoy our time together. Truth be told, I would happily embarrass myself in golf, basketball, poker, or any other “man-sport” that I suck at to spend more time with him. Not that he ever asks.

Just a few weeks ago, as Wilbur and I met at one of our rare meals, he noted that he had no close friends. For a moment I was speechless. Wilbur is the quintessential definition of winner, and he has no close friends? When I shared my confusion, he bemusedly smirked and said it was the byproduct of a deliberate decision that left him bereft of friends. He said: “I have worked hard, tried to accomplish much in my career, and tried to be a good dad, a good husband. And how much time did that leave for golfing buddies? Poker games with pals? Or time for a lunch with a friend just to say hello? Almost no time at all. I tried to live up to the expectations placed on me, have arguably been successful, and now I am alone.”

Wilbur’s situation is bittersweet and commonplace—at least for men. Women in my experience seem more adept at creating and keeping social relationships alive in the midst of career and parenting. The men I have come to know who strived to succeed professionally while trying to be a decent parent and spouse, end up pretty much alone. And now it was clearer why Wilbur always said yes when I invited him to share a meal, despite our Mutt-and-Jeffness. Who else in his world invited him without an agenda other than to say hello and share a meal? Only his few friends.

It’s interesting to note that as Wilbur ends one phase of his successful career and as his kids leave high school for college, only now does he become wistfully philosophical and notes that he is alone. The truth is, we are all too distracted with activities, obsessions, or obligations to invest enough time and energy into building and maintaining healthy relationships with friends and family. That is nature of our American experience. We have all inherited the immigrant opportunity to “make something of ourselves” often at the expense of our friendships and families. And that is as true for women as it is for men.

When I was a kid, my dad used to say, “We are born alone and we die alone. If along the way you are fortunate enough to make friends or have a family, treat them with love and care while you can. It will all be over very soon.” It wasn’t clear to me as I heard those words as a teenager, but given how much of my own adult experience as a striving professional and parent has mirrored Wilbur’s lonely condition, my dad’s advice makes more sense than ever.

Wherever you are today, I hope you take the time to enjoy and lavish attention on the friends and family you have. Soak it up while you can. And if you find yourself as lonely as Wilbur, take solace in his last words on this topic: “As a fifty year old man, I am now applying myself toward building frienships with the same determination I once applied to my career and parenting.”

It’s never too late to start.