Most of us are familiar with how it feels when we find an old article of clothing in the back of our closet and make the mistake of trying it on. Bodies change. Styles change. Tastes change. In most instances, closet finds and best left unfound.
I think it’s something of a truism in life that old things often don’t fit well. That doesn’t stop us from trying, though. I remember when Facebook escaped the confines of college campuses and became a thing for the general population. People (me included) dove headfirst into the pool of old acquaintances and long-gone friendships before realizing that pool was filled with the equivalent of years-old motor oil. Sure, some friendships were rekindled. But more often than not, we were reminded why the long-gone friendship died in the first place.
I am something of a new creation these days, and I find myself with these things from my old life that just don’t seem to fit anymore. I have spent a lot of time and a lot of effort defeating old demons (or at least beating them back pretty severely) and finding a me that fits a lot more comfortably than the old me seemed to. I like this new creation. But he’s young — a toddler, at best — and there have been lots of bumps and bruises as I’ve gone from crawling to walking.
I have a long, long history of bad friendships. This isn’t to say the people with whom I had those bad friendships were bad people. Most of them are great people … or, at worst, not serial killers (that I know of). The friendships, though? Not so much.
The most common toxic type of friendship I have had through the years — we’re talking preschool through today — is the one in which I essentially serve as free counseling for people with lives that often are extremely chaotic. I am blessed (and cursed) with an amazing intuition, empathy coming out of every orifice (there’s an image to take to bed with you) and a genuine love of helping people. It was hardly rare for me to spend multiple consecutive hours talking people through their latest issue to arrive at a solution, and it wasn’t uncommon for me to be called upon to do this with multiple people in the same week. Frustratingly, those solutions frequently never would be actually implemented by the person seeking the help, and they often would end up right back in the same chair with the same general issue except one go-around worse. But that never stopped me from doing the same thing all over again the next week.
I thought these people were actual friends. They weren’t.
How do I know that? Well, when I stopped providing the free counseling and instead met their problem with genuine compassion rather than in-depth, time-consuming attempts to help them find solutions, those people stopped coming around as much until they all but disappeared. Sure, from time to time they’d try to rekindle the old style of friendship that they liked. But when I stuck with the boundaries I created, they became anywhere from frustrated to outright angry with me.
I also know that these people weren’t friends because there was precious little reciprocation when it came to the whole “I’m here for you” thing. I set the stage for these folks to be able to come to me whenever they had a problem. That’s my fault. But if I had something for which I needed to lean on another, these folks weren’t anything close to dependable and often maddeningly attempted to steer the conversation back to their issues. Trying to have a conversation in which their problem de jour wasn’t the main course was like driving the wrong way down a one-way street.
And so, well before this new me appeared, I made a decision to stop talking to most of these people. It wasn’t easy. I felt guilty and this belief that I was abandoning them. But, in general, I had more energy and time for the scant few who actually remained in my life in some way.
Recently, I looked around at just how scant that population of people who have stuck around is. Until this week, if you looked beyond the walls of my own home, the number was exactly one.
Today, that number is zero.
The old me had a very low bar for what I would consider a friend. Beyond that, because of some of the unresolved issues from my youth, the actual friendships I did have were far from healthy and rarely lasted. Again, these weren’t bad people. Hardly. They are some of the best people I’ve ever known. But as friends, extremely rarely were we on the same page when it came to the relationship.
My wife would tell you that I’m interested in friendships that involve deep discussions about weighty issues, that, if the intensity of a friendship were placed on a scale were 1 is an acquaintance and 10 was your ride-or-die bestie, I want 8’s, 9’s, and 10’s. In some ways, she’s not wrong. At least, until recently she wasn’t wrong.
I was blessed to have some of those 8’s, 9’s and 10’s. We made each other a priority because we truly valued the relationship. Often, the intensity of those friendships led them to be something like a shooting star. They burned really, really bright for a short amount of time and then, for various reasons, flamed out.
These days, I’m not looking for that type of friendship. Sure, I’d be fine if something like that happened. But if we go back to that scale, I’d be cool with a few 3’s and 4’s and maybe a 5 or a 6. What does that look like in practical terms? It’s a person who knows you, who cares about what happens to you and who values your place in their life enough to make time for you.
I thought the one person who remained in that population of hold-overs from the old me was just such a person. This week I learned he wasn’t, and I think, as the weekend nears, I’m grieving that misperception on my part.
Words are easy. I can tell you I’m going to help you move Saturday. But if I don’t show up Saturday morning ready, willing and able to work my ass off to help you move, well, I haven’t exactly been a mover, have I?
The same comes with people who tell you they value your friendship. We make time for what we value, and that takes action, not just words. When repeated actions show me that the words don’t match, the dissonance screams like a toddler who doesn’t get her way. I hear that. I feel that. And these days, to the new me? It feels kind of gross.
So I made a decision. The old me would have silently eaten the latest action that was showing me quite clearly there was an issue with the difference in level of energy and commitment to the friendship. The funny thing is, me doing exactly that — eating it instead of standing up for myself — seems to have helped created the monster that bit me this week. I own that. My bad. At least I can say I’ve learned.
Instead of eating it again this time, I pushed back, said my peace in love and altered my mindset for the future of this relationship. He’s not a bad guy. Far from it. We could still have some good times if he’s ever ready to match words with action. We just had different ideas about where that friendship was and what actual energy and actions we were willing to put behind it.
It’s been a few days now since all of this happened, and though it still hurts, I have a good understanding of the core of the issue. It goes back to the analogy of the things you sometimes find in your closet. If you’ve lost 100 pounds and gone from unhealthy to healthy, it would be foolish to reach deep into the depths of your closet and pull out an old pair of pants. They aren’t going to fit. Ditto for friendships forged during a time different from a healthier version of you.
Is this an absolute? I don’t think so, no. But a healthier human has a different standard for what he will and will not accept in any relationship — be it a friendship, a marriage, a work situation — than an unhealthy human. I know that as an unhealthy human, the problem wasn’t that other people were taking advantage of my kindness and ability to help them untangle their messes. The problem was me, that I didn’t have the proper boundaries and standards for what I, personally, value in a friend. I took people turning to me for help as a sign that they actually, truly valued me as a friend. What I’ve learned the hard way is that reality is something different from my belief at the time.
So here I am: 48 years old and essentially friendless. That makes me sad. It makes me angry. It sure as hell leaves me feeling lonely and lost. A few people I know and trust say this is a good thing, that sometimes you have to clean out your closet to make room for the new, more stylish clothes that actually fit. For now, I have to take these folks at their word. I just don’t see anything happening for me right now. It’s not for lack of effort. Lots of opportunities are coming soon, I know. But so far? My life outside the walls of my home is pretty empty when it comes to anyone who could say they actually know me.
I think I’m a pretty nice guy. I think this new me is a good person to be around. If I were putting together a friendship resume’, I think most people would at least give me an interview and maybe even a second interview. I guess time will tell if all this work that I’ve done and all the hurts that came with cleaning out the closet truly were worth it.
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