You Didn’t Ask

Does anyone else think we have diluted the term friend? Notice how effortlessly it rolls off the tongue. When did we wed real friends -the ones who have our back-with every acquaintance that crosses our path? – how did the ladies from yoga, the ones we small talk with, get promoted to the friend category? To me, a friend specifies someone willing to carry a heavy load on my behalf. Is there a litmus test for what constitutes a friend? I know we throw the title around like confetti, but recently I am feeling at odds. Does it matter? Should it matter?  

Friends…

It’s quite magical when you stop to consider how the universe operates. How people come into our lives at a precise moment. Just as we start a new episode, there they are, settling in the front row, catching anything we throw their way, giving us standing ovations, holding cue cards, just in case we need a little reminder.

But as we evolve and scenes change, so do friendships. Life happens; we outgrow each other, and the things that once connected us are no longer present. We used to be tight, but now we seldom connect. There are no hard feelings; we wish good things for each other; however, we aren’t attending the dance together. The friendship has been gently put on the clearance rack; last season’s fit. 

The exception is the lifers. These friends transcend seasons, phases, moves. We may go months, years without speaking; it does not matter; we signed a lifetime membership, and they are permanently tattooed in our hearts. Lifers are a special breed, friends who become family. They require the least amount of work, an unspoken understanding- we got each other- no matter what- I gotcha.’

To clarify, I am not dismissing acquaintances- people of which I know little. I enjoy these connections. I am slowly getting to know them, and I appreciate their vibe. It is not a question of whether we like each other; on the contrary, there are some fabulous people. The obstacle is simply time. So, we spend most of the time flirting with the idea of being friends. I want them on the dance floor; I am just not prepared to slow dance with them. Neighbors, tennis mates, workout buddies, there are many. The reality is that I don’t have the proper time to take care of and foster new friendships. For you see, for me, once you are in, once we slow dance and I move you over to the friend category, then I am all in. I stock my fridge with your favorite wine, you know, just in case you pop over. I wish I had more space, but I just don’t have the time to be a proper friend, to clap it out for you, to take a front seat to your life. With your permission, I’d like to hang on the sidelines, love you when I see you, and leave it there.  

You didn’t ask

As I delve into this journey of discovering joy, I find myself thinking a lot about my keepers, the ones actively in my life. I am seriously vested; I don’t feel obligated to do anything for them; I want to do for them. We spend countless hours sharing drinks, vacations, laughs, but how well do we really know each other? The nitty-gritty, what keeps you up at night stuff. I get it; it is impossible to know everything, but are we peeling enough layers? 

The consequential question is, who bears the brunt of getting down to the nitty-gritty? The more I share on Together Joy, the more friends assert, oh, I didn’t know that about you, I didn’t know you like to write, I didn’t know you felt that way. My response is always, I am quite sure you never asked. I am not intending to be shitty, just factual. It is true, people, friends don’t ask meaningful questions. Is it that they don’t care? Or is it that I don’t share enough? Is it that they were raised not to be intrusive? Or is it that I never allow them to dive into my soul? Whatever the reason, if they are my friends, shouldn’t they know certain things about me. Or is it on me? Am I holding my junk hostage?

Gabriella

I remember the moment I discovered that friendship is not meant to be a one-way street. It requires both parties to show up and participate. It involves asking but also entails telling.

Gabriella and I met playing tennis. We train together several times a week, and our friendship is easy. She is the best sparring partner—the perfect balance of keeping the conversation light and competition high. Off the court, we share a lot of meals and have meaningful conversations. We discuss the spectrum, politics, our Latin roots, kids, parenting advice, and wine. By all accounts, we are friends.

Gabs is never late to tennis. Yet this morning, she is. We were not partnered together, but I did take note as she ran onto the courts, disheveled, visibly upset, and apologizing profusely. After our timed match, Gabs quickly grabbed her stuff and made a beeline to the parking lot. I ran after her, eventually catching her as she opened the car door. Breathless, hey, wait up, what’s going on, you okay? No, I’m not, I’m getting a divorce. We told the kids last night’; her eyes began to swell up with giant tears. She started crying, not a hysterical sob, rather the slow, deliberate, gasping for air; the weight is too heavy, a broken heart type of sob. I had a front seat to her agony. She spoke slowly, trying desperately to put words to her pain, wiping the tears, catching her breath as she unloaded the painful truth. As she drowned in sorrow, all I can offer is a big sweaty hug. The only words I can muster ‘This blows, I am so sorry”- (note to self-seriously Mic, that’s all you got- shit-not my best- I was caught off balance)

200lbs lighter

I got in my car and was furious at myself. How did I not notice, the signs were right in front of me? The flu-like symptoms and the weight loss. I pride myself on being so intuitive; reading people’s emotional radar is one of my strengths. I missed this one completely. We met for coffee later that day. I learned that she had struggled in her marriage for years—an emotionally abusive relationship, a husband that controlled every component of their marriage…I know Mike; boy, I didn’t see that coming. The more she unleashed, the more I felt like an imposter and the guiltier I felt for not holding my end of the friendship contract. I am so sorry. I failed you as a friend. I assumed you were happy; you seemed happy. I should have asked more questions; I should have noticed something. She looked at me squarely in the eyes; I didn’t want you to know, I made sure no one knew, it’s not on you… 

I get that we never really know what people are going through, and Gabs did a fantastic job shielding herself. When she was ready to be vulnerable, willing to trust, she shared. In the end, Gabs was 200lbs lighter; the emotional weight from her ex was gone. She learned to lean on her friendships and allowed us to carry some of the heavy loads. The lighter version of Gabs is healthier and suits her well; she is happy. I also learned that for friendships to truly prosper, it must be a two-way street.

Identifying Styles

The Dodger  

As a recovering dodger, I am well versed in this category. For me, it stems from a few messy years in childhood. Shit that happened, bad decisions made that had nothing to do with me and everything to do with my parents. I don’t like talking about these years for several reasons, mostly out of fear that my family, the loves of my life, will be judged. So, I dodge to protect myself, to protect my family. At the core, all dodgers have trust issues. I still do and am actively working on relaxing my grip – Here’s the thing: trust is meant to be earned. I also know that withholding trust is toxic and unfair to the people who actively show up in my life. I can’t expect to get a VIP pass to my friend’s world and not reciprocate. I must start giving trust away a bit more freely.

It is a complicated process for dodgers; speaking the truth is often painful. Saying things out loud gives grief a stage to perform- Abuse, infidelity, low self-esteem, loneliness, depression, mental illness, addiction…it is so much easier to dodge and redirect, focus on anyone but me. 

The flip side of a dodger is that you typically get energetic askers and active listeners. We are not meddling; we are generally interested in what you have to say. We would rather spend an evening hearing about you, your experiences, the books you are reading, and what fuels your passion. Dodgers are happy to step aside and let their companions shine. 

The one wayers- Self-absorbed

Ahh, the ones that turn every situation, every conversation, every interaction and flip it to make it about their lives. They are self-absorbed and exceptionally talented, the conversational narcissist. Recently, I was with someone who does this masterfully. The subject matter is not important to the one-wayer. I was attempting to share a childhood memory with this one-wayer of my home in San Pedro Sula, Honduras. I didn’t get past a small detail, maybe 30 seconds in-boom, the hijacking occurred. ‘Did I tell you that my daughter is playing tennis with a girl from Mexico- the Mexican is not as talented as my baby -she really needs to work on her backhand.”…. blah, blah, blah (in my head, wow, should have timed that one, WTF? Honduras is not Mexico, where is the connection- the Mexican…not loving that…how, when, what??? alrighty then-just wow)

One-wayers are easy to identify. The one-upper, no matter what, their story is more important, their lives are more exciting, or so they think. On the rare occasion that I get cornered with a one-wayer, I immediately surrender; they win…. they win at never shutting up. I sit back- someone hand me the popcorn- I don’t have to say one word, I don’t even have to listen. The chatter in my head kicks in. Do they know they are sucking up all oxygen in the room? Do they care? Are they uncomfortable with silence? are they lonely? How do they do it, the nonstop rambling, run-on sentences, they don’t come up for air -it is a talent. They really should consider inserting a period and a question every so often. Exhausting!

The one-man shows

Under the category of the one-wayers is the subcategory of the one-man show, aka the entertainers. The distinction is that the one-man show does not offend. They don’t make everything about themselves per se. But you get the sense that they are on stage performing an act. They are fantastic at keeping the laughs going and self-deprecating humor. No animals are harmed in the making of their show. Compulsive talking is their thing; they say a lot yet say nothing at all. They navigate in the ‘keep it light, keep it moving’ arena.

The triangles- trust, truths, respect

The triangles, a symbol of balance, the crème de la crème. They get it; they share, listen, and give as much as they receive. They strike the perfect chord. If you are lucky to have a triangle in your corner, treasure them. Don’t fuck it up. Triangles are rare in the sense that they are incredibly stable. Hang on to them like your life depended on it and love them fiercely. They offer the right amount of everything.

Calibrate

Perhaps it’s time to calibrate and balance our relationships. What type of friend are you? How is it serving you? How is it serving your peeps? In the end, friendships can only succeed if balanced and sincere. Surely, we ought to know and invest more about people in our sphere than those in The Real Housewives.  

I am striving to be a triangle and growing as a friend. I am learning that I do not get a say on how my friends distribute information. When I know something after the fact, I don’t take it personally. And if someone does trust me with their junk, you can be assured, I am a freakin’ vault. I don’t have to swoop in and save, but I protect the heck out of them. The biggest lesson I have learned is that I can’t possibly expect others to support me if I refuse to offer an all-access pass to my life. 

With this in mind, I have started to let go. I have stopped keeping score, who has been there for me, who hasn’t; this is not the way forward. I am also done apologizing for myself. A friend recently said about me, ‘it requires strength to be in your circle, you are not afraid to ask, but mostly you listen intently. You have to be a strong bitch to be friends with you…you can be intimidating ‘…if that is the case, I am friends with some strong bitches.  

I began this post wondering if the term friend is overused. I realize now that it’s not up to me to have an opinion on this. It belongs to the eye of the beholder. For now, I know who my friends are, and I know that I want my circle to grow. As seasons change, I hope space opens for new friendships. In the meantime, I will focus on being friendly with all whom I meet. I want the object of my attention to be acts of kindness, compliments, smiles, and love. I want to ask questions with purpose and sprinkle all who cross my path with encouraging words and affirmations. This, to me, is joy.