It's probably a bit of a power trip when you befriend somebody

The words of Josh Brolin pierce like an arrow into the heart of human fellowship: “It’s probably a bit of a power trip when you befriend somebody enough that they trust you to tell you things.” Beneath the simplicity of this saying lies a truth both radiant and dangerous. To be entrusted with another’s hidden thoughts, their burdens, their wounds—that is no small matter. For in such moments, one holds not merely a secret, but the very soul of another, placed delicately into one’s hands. And herein lies the test: will one cradle it with reverence, or wield it as an instrument of power?

The ancients knew this well. In the courts of kings and emperors, confidants often rose higher than generals, for the whispered truths of the heart shape destinies more swiftly than the clash of swords. The keeper of secrets becomes the keeper of influence. Yet, this gift is double-edged. When friendship transforms into a power trip, the sacred bond of trust decays into manipulation, and what was once a temple of honesty becomes a battlefield of control. Thus, Brolin’s reflection is both an acknowledgment of temptation and a warning to those who would confuse trust with dominion.

Consider the story of Julius Caesar and Brutus. Brutus, beloved by Caesar, was entrusted with fellowship and loyalty. Yet in the shifting tides of Rome, that trust became a snare. Caesar’s confidence in Brutus gave Brutus the power to betray him with a single stroke, a strike that shattered the mightiest empire of its time. Here we see how the sacred offering of trust can, when warped into ambition, become the most lethal weapon of all. For the confidant, armed with intimacy, wields a power greater than the soldier’s blade.

But let us not dwell only on betrayal, for history also offers shining examples of trust kept with honor. Recall the friendship between Helen Keller and her teacher, Anne Sullivan. Keller, blind and deaf, lived in darkness and silence. Yet she entrusted her entire world to Sullivan, who became her bridge to language, meaning, and life itself. Here, the power of entrusted secrets did not lead to arrogance, but to devotion. Sullivan did not glory in the influence she held over Helen, but bent it toward service. And in that selfless use of power, both were lifted into greatness.

So what does this reveal to us, children of time? It shows that every bond carries within it a seed of temptation. To be entrusted is to be exalted, and in exaltation, pride lurks nearby. The power trip arises when we mistake entrusted words for a crown upon our heads. But true nobility is found in humility: to hear another’s secrets as though they were holy relics, not weapons; to guard them not as property, but as sacred flame. In this way, the confidant becomes a guardian, not a conqueror.

Therefore, let this teaching sink deep: trust is both a gift and a trial. If you are entrusted, rejoice not in the power it gives you, but in the honor bestowed upon you. If you are the one who entrusts, choose with wisdom, for not all hearts are equal in strength to bear your burdens. Remember the words of the philosopher Seneca: “Nothing is more sacred than the confidences of friendship.” Break them, and you break something that may never be restored.

The lesson is clear: wield the gift of trust with humility and reverence. If a friend bares their soul, resist the shadow of pride. Speak less, listen more. Offer counsel only when asked, and let silence itself be a shield for their words. Share burdens, not gossip. And above all, never treat trust as currency for your own gain. For those who preserve trust faithfully shall be remembered not as wielders of power, but as pillars of loyalty, strength, and love.

Practical actions follow: when others confide in you, pause before you speak, and remind yourself—this is not mine to own, but mine to protect. Practice discretion, guard confidences, and let your friends feel safer after they have spoken than before. In doing so, you build not just friendships, but legacies of trust that endure like the marble statues of the ancients, unbroken by time, unswayed by vanity.