We're All Getting Better

Last week I had coffee with two old friends, and by old friends I mean two people, each of whom used to be my friends and then weren’t because we got to the point where we couldn’t really stand each other. But each of these people happened to reach out to me last week and ask me to have coffee and I know that people are always changing, so I went both times. 

One of the coffee dates was surprisingly lovely and made me full of hope and one of them made me really upset but also ended up being really good.

I don’t like leaving friendships hanging around, I’m a gladhand, but I am an intimacy introvert, and I do not gain a bunch of energy from having many close friends, and by close friends I mean people I can talk to, one on one for more than an hour. So when I make one of those friends, and I lose them, it’s a big loss. 

But losing close friends is a part of life, I think, especially for women. You make a friend and then you guys are super close, like a crazy romance, and then something happens and she fades out and you never know why that happened exactly, unless sometimes when you’re the one who faded her out.

I think that these friendships often happen because you are both having some kind of boy trouble, and you want to talk about boy trouble basically all the time and so does she. Perhaps nature evolved us to have these friendships to diminish the number of people who have to hear us talk about that stuff. But when you’re consumed with boy stuff, nothing beats a lady friend who is also consumed with boy stuff.

Woo! Let's don't have feelings together!

In my particular case, the other reason you form these relationships is because you and the other lady are crazy. Crazy, like boy trouble, is pretty much all consuming. When you’re crazy, you want a crazy person to talk about being crazy with. This can go two ways.  Either you and your crazy lady friend sit around indulging in coping mechanisms and making really dark (but [necessarily] really good) jokes about some traumatic shit that you are going/have gone through, or you and your crazy lady friend climb out of crazy super awkwardly together.

The crazy friendship either does the first thing, in which you continually pull each other down into the lobster bucket of depression, making the bucket the coolest place to be, and also making sure that she never climbs out or it does the second thing.

That second thing is the best thing. It's pretty rare though. 

The boy stuff friendship is pretty much doomed, but it is also pretty functional, so good on that

Last night I had drinks with two rad ladies who are about ten years older than me, and they were lamenting the shift in culture where people share really personal stuff with relative strangers. Joy said that it made her feel like she wasn’t special. She remembered what it meant to have a friend who selected her personally to give good news instead of putting it on facebook for everyone to see at once. She doesn’t like this new mass sharing (some would say oversharing) culture.

Sometimes it is not great, sure, but I think the new sharing culture is coming out of a generation who just know less shame than generations before. There’s so much less that you need to hide under the bed in a

lockbox because people might cruelly judge you for it.  It can’t be bad that we live in a time where people feel comfortable talking about hardship, abuse, divorce, addiction, sexual orientation and all kinds of other things we used to keep to ourselves. I know every time I hear someone say that they are divorced I feel a little absolved. It was scary when I moved here and walked into a community which thought it was funny/shameful to have mental health issues. I’m happy being around people who step up and talk about therapy and medication and the process of getting over. I also like when people talk about these things on facebook.

I was listening to a storyteller on the Moth the other week who remarked that his son’s generation was just more perceiving than judging. Where his generation, he said, would have called something shameful or wrong his son’s called it “awkward.”  “Awkward” isn’t a negative judgment, it’s a perception of a lack of grace that doesn’t seem to demand grace. Grace is ideal, but “awkward” is just part of life.

One of my two estranged friends has been having a really bad go of it. In fact, when I heard through the tight and twisted Philly grapevine that he wasn’t doing well, even though I a little bit still wanted to punch him in the face, I sent an email saying that if he needed to talk, I was there.

I guess I wish I had had grace when I just wanted to punch him. Maybe I could have breathed through and understood why he was infuriating me, if I’d had better tools or stronger will. But I didn’t. And it was awkward. I’d run into him, and it would be ungraceful but I didn’t do anything about it. 

And my old friend-- the last person who I would ever have expected to be self reflective and thoughtful and to show grace to me—did do those things. My friend is making his way in the world, figuring things out, getting better tools, getting to know himself. The good stuff. And it fills me with hope for all of us to see it.

1660: Not a good time for
sharing feelings

So many of the people I love are doing this, these days.  We are all awkwardly stumbling along the path, but finally it is the right path, the one that leads to peace and meaningful work and lasting friendships and health for the body and mind.  I can’t think of a better thing. Not just because we’re coming out of dark places, but because our experiences seem to show that the nature of things is that it is possible to escape. It makes me so happy, and so grateful.

This is another privilege of these generations coming up. Maybe mine will be the last to feel shame about needing help, needing therapy and needing medication. Maybe a world that talks about coping strategies and tools and makes “I” statements is coming up.  Maybe a more healthful search for a more real peace will become the norm.

My other friend is not doing so well. She’s steeped in hurt, and quickly dragged me down in. I got nervous and then I got gaslit and then I felt nuts.

But then I walked out. And I went to the next thing, and wished her well and let it go. And I was OK. And this is new. It’s part of the getting better. I can’t make her do it; I can only make me do it. And my doing it means that I don’t have to get in the lobster bucket with her because I’m afraid she won’t have company in there. To paraphrase what Darin kindly said when he saw my leftover sad, 'Sometimes the best thing to do with baggage is to just put it down.'

That’s what honesty allows, in friendship, if you have the guts. One of my friends had the guts to apologize to me, and I had the guts to let the other one walk her own way by herself when I wouldn’t be a good companion. We’re all getting better.