on friendships
I have a lot of thoughts on friendship, most of which is difficult for me to voice or write -- not for the lack of knowing how to, but the at-times-overwhelming shame and self-pity that comes with thinking about myself in relation to others. I love getting to know people and almost all of my happiest, most profound moments in life have been due to others. I am a lover, empath, whatever one calls it these days, and I intuit people with striking precision. Sometimes people pick up on this ability -- I call it my magic -- to create space for vulnerable, emotionally intense, spiritual connections and decide to meet me there. Most times though, I feel bruised by the world. I find myself googling questions like “What to do if you’re the only friend reaching out?” and feeling a deep saddening insecurity about if the people in my life like me. I do acknowledge that this is not fully reflective of the truth; traumatic experiences in high school and undergrad have left me weary about friendships, I have some form of relational/moral OCD that makes disagreements (even on little things) extremely hurtful. Sometimes I self-sabotage my relationships, something I’ve been learning to address through compassion and self-soothing instead of leaning into destructive tendencies.
Even with all of these caveats, I still often feel like a children’s story book character, someone who is so desperate to connect, only to rebuked at every turn. I see my sister, and what we share: a deep empathy, intuition, and so much love to give, and seeing her struggle in these pre-teen friendships call into sharp relief my own struggles. It’s also through this mirror that I’ve realized my wishes for her to never change, to never allow this rough, abrasive world to steal the sense of generosity and wonder for her relationships; and my own reaction toward my struggles, which is most often shame -- at not ‘doing friendships’ right. But like children’s story books, whose endings I find so complex and beautiful, not all is lost. I have people and relationships I treasure beyond words. The moments that we share -- in the setting sun, in the water, on top of mountains, half-drunk and happy, heads resting on shoulders and hugs and kisses and hands in each others’, surrounded by music and laughter, so much laughter -- are gemstones I polish and display in my mind.
On occasion, I have been accused of making things more complex than they need to be. I think my relationship with ‘friendship’ is quite complex, and at the same time is the most natural thing in the world. I make plans, link arms, and gift tiny items and handwritten letters excessively, a corvid thief sharing shiny objects. I learn from my friends -- who buy rounds for the table, lend me their clothes, say yes to last-minute restaurant changes -- to practice generosity as my religion. In the best of times, I have the clarity that I am a good friend to people I love in my life, and them to me, and the shadowed clouds of insecurity are just that, wisps of air. It’s this thought, and the knowledge of the following truths that keep me open, vulnerable, and unapologetic in the way I love:
- Friends are meant to be leaned on
- Friends can (and probably ought to) annoy each other a bit, the love is made stronger with friction
- Friends show us how to be better (friends, lovers, colleagues, people)
- The strongest relationships focus on how we can give (our time, money, energy, strength, affirmations, prayers) to each other
I think it’s a privilege to feel so deeply, and I’m learning how to enjoy the inevitable ebbs and flows of being in relation with another. Serendipidously, I met with one of my wisest friends for a coffee, during which I described to him this dilemma, this sometimes unbearable paralyzing despair that I’m not able to love as deeply as I want to. I’d like to think we’re quite similar in the way we approach the world, and through him, I am able to find some peace of knowing that everything will turn out okay -- that you can care so intensely, brightly about the world around you, and the world doesn’t fade it in 30 years. As I rambled, we looked at each other and came to the same conclusion for me quickly: there’s no other way worth being. Whatever it is -- desparate, caring, empathetic, suffocating -- it’s the only way I know how to be and therefore the only way that I should be. I didn’t need a guide on how to change myself; I needed confirmation, absolution, a way forward, a confessional and prayers in the biting wind off the Danish coast. When we parted, he texted me: keep giving the best of you, it makes the world so much better.