I do what I always do when I haven’t heard from Hank – whose name has been changed for the sake of privacy – for over six months: I scan the obituaries. He’s still alive, as far as I can tell, which means something else. It means his emails must be in my spam folder. Alas, there’s no proof of life there, either.
Which means only one other thing is possible: the correspondence, thus friendship, has ended. Perhaps for good this time.
I know I could reach out, send an ol’ “how’s it going?” email and marvel at how much time has passed as an introduction. Or pretend no time has passed at all and get right into the life update. Either way, I’m not certain how he would react. In the meantime, I can tell myself several stories of why I haven’t heard from him without knowing if any of them would be true.
It can be so hard navigating the waters of friendships. Each has its own set of rules including, but not limited to, frequency of contact. The longest we’ve gone without speaking to one another was three years. It started with a broken engagement and ended with my decision to add him and his family to our holiday card mailing list. We were both married after all. Bygones!
During the time we weren’t communicating, I realized how important it was to have people who knew me and my family and could help me put my life in context. We built a solid friendship over the next 20-plus years, sharing stories about our spouses and his children and our careers. It was fun talking about who we were when we had known each other and who we had become over time. And it was helpful to be able to talk with someone who knew those life changes had been hard-won.
The last time we wrote to each other in 2020, we had both lost our jobs during the pandemic. The final exchange was a note from me enthusiastically encouraging him to look at positions via my new employer’s website and an offer to connect him with a friend of mine working in his field.
Crickets.
As I scan through all of the non-diet related self-help news articles this January, many have centered on friendships. All have some iteration on the importance of work friendships, of long-term friendships, of being open to new friendships. Considering my friendship with Hank and my more recent friendships has helped me understand that that the deepness of the relationship isn’t necessarily related to the length of time we’ve known each other, but rather through shared experiences and interests. My closest friends are people I’ve worked with—there’s something about the trauma-inducing supervisor that brings people together! Also, with fellow writers—including James, as well as a group of 20-somethings with whom I write weekly.
The more I reflect on my friendships, the more I realize that time and distance don’t seem to matter, which is why I should cut Hank some slack. I haven’t seen my friend, Megan, for 15 years, but I would still call her to bail me (or, my husband) out of jail—and, in fact, she had been standing by ready to do just such a thing many years ago.
There are also several friends who have given me second or third or fifth chances to repair our friendship. Like Eva, who was the first person to call me when she found out I’d been laid off even though we hadn’t spoken in four years. And Nicole, who was willing to risk my inability to properly express myself and give our friendship another chance. And Diane, who has put up with my weirdness and prickliness off and on (mostly on, thank goodness) since we were eleven years old. These friendships are precious to me because each of these people has been willing to work with me on our communication and my, sometimes, lack thereof.
After reflecting on Ralph Waldo Emerson’s idea that the “only way to have a friend is to be one,” I realized that it was easier for me to walk away from relationships than to try to fix them. It’s uncomfortable telling others how I feel and much easier to pretend that everything is fine or to simply drop contact. So, I spent some time last year reconnecting with people I was missing in my life to tell them what had happened on my end. Two of these friends met me with grace and understanding and we’re building back our relationships.
People say that marriage is hard work, but I think the work of friendship can be more difficult. There’s something about choosing to be connected with others without any other commitment. No legally binding contract or religious ceremony; just a common understanding that we’re going to hang out together and share our stories and help each other as best we can. I’m learning that telling these stories takes a certain level of trust and vulnerability and that it’s worth a little bit of shame or anxiety if someone else can share similar experiences with me. It goes a long way toward feeling less lonely in a world that I don’t always understand.
I’m not sure what happens with my friendship with Hank. I can wait for him to write back, or I can reach out to see how he is. Maybe there’s something else, which is simply being grateful for the time we had together and to use the lessons of that friendship to solidify my current ones. I’m learning that not all friendships have a solid beginning or end but exist on a continuum that is often indefinable.
