One of the many essential beliefs I’ve tried to foster throughout my adult life is that of friendship. This sense of commitment should not come as a surprise, as through and through, connection with others is something we all want, need, and crave. With that being said, something changed over the last six months with how I view, entertain, and cultivate the close bonds I share with others. I no longer act with a carefree whimsy as my disposition has shifted into a concerted and deliberate commitment. There are reasons for this intentional focus that have caused this sudden movement.
Age has undoubtedly played a part as the advancement of time — I’m in my early forties — has forced me to consider what’s essential at this stage of my life versus what isn’t. I’m single with no dependents. Therefore, much of my time is free of my choosing, and it might stay this way for a little while. Nevertheless, age has a way of adding perspective and wisdom to those little touches of life that tell you that you will not be here forever. In these little reminders, I’ve found solace that being a better friend is worth the extra commitment, even if it means sacrificing some of the things I might often want to pursue on my own.
Outside of age, other reasons have pushed this narrative. The first began last summer with a fight with my best friend. We’ve known one another since the age of 10 and have forged and built over that time a strong connection, even in light of the distance we’ve shared (he lives in Saskatoon) since the first time I moved away at the age of 23. The fight stemmed from various reasons, but at its core, it was stimulated by and compounded by our not sharing space. The pandemic wreaked havoc — as it did for everyone — on our ability to see and be together, which, for us especially, proved difficult the longer the gap between our last time together lasted. Not that either of us wished for this scenario, as I’ve mentioned above, the pandemic left us with little to no options on the matter; it’s more along the lines of what this drift created that changed our dynamic the most as it left a chasm within our framework that tilted how we viewed one another.
The underlining issue I’ve come to recognize since that fight is that we took our bond and our belief in its unshakability — due to the years we’d known one another — for granted. This prompted resentment and a lack of awareness of what the other’s needs and wants were, which in turn drove our lens and attention towards reciprocity — which, in theory, is a cynical way of viewing someone you care about as it should never be based along the lines of transaction.
Over the past eight to ten months, our friendship and what it has become since has stayed at the top of my psyche as I’ve tried to decipher where it might end up. We’re still not talking, which bothers me, yet even in light of this dilemma, I’m uncertain I want to rekindle things as words were said, which has left me wondering if we can ever be the same.
This moral reckoning I’ve had within myself toward my friend and friendship has surfaced recently from authors who lamented the dire state of things in our society today. Back in December, Professor and podcast host Scott Galloway penned an excellent newsletter detailing the struggles we’ve all come to have and see regarding our status as friends and the loneliness that’s permeated our daily lives.
From No Mercy/No Malice:
In the United States friendship is on the decline. Since 1990, the percentage of Americans who report having less than three close friends has doubled, from 16% to 32%. The share who report having no close friends at all has gone from 3% to 12%. Put another way, 20 million Americans have begun smoking a pack a day. A number of factors inspired this perfect storm of loneliness: Covid; political polarization; fewer random encounters, as we no longer go to the mall/theater/office; social media raising a generation of disconnected people who feel worse about themselves; and a lack of so-called “third places” (public space neither work nor home).
Men and women approach friendship differently. Men have it drilled into us from an early age that vulnerability and emotional connections are signs of weakness. They aren’t, and men with influence have an obligation to cleanse this bullshit version of masculinity from the zeitgeist. But to be clear: Declining friendships is an everyone problem.
The decline in friendship is insidious, as it feeds on itself. Friendship is a muscle that strengthens with use but atrophies with age. We have so many more opportunities and so much more fuel for our friendships when we are children and even as young adults.
When I first read this, the last paragraph got me the most. The second sentence hit home with my friend and I. Our bond had atrophied due to age and disconnect, something I’d have never seen or expected in my twenties. I always believed he and I were unbreakable and could withstand anything. Oh, how wrong I was. The fuel is what hits me now. Do I have it within me to fix this problem? Is it even possible if we’re always going to live apart?
These two questions constantly ruminate, even as I push to build stronger bonds with those I’m close with at home. The statistics Professor Galloway gave above are startling yet not surprising, even if part of me recognizes that due to the nature of my employment — that of hospitality, a field where social bonds are generally easier to forge because of the nature of the work — I’ve been able to cultivate and maintain a strong friendship circle, one that is probably bigger than most men my age. Nevertheless, despite those around me whom I care for, as I stated at the top, my deliberate commitment to them and their needs has grown immeasurably. I want to be in their lives in a pivotal way, and I’m prepared to sacrifice to make that happen.
In addition to Professor Galloway’s thoughts here, an Atlantic feature from local (she lives in North Vancouver) freelance writer, Adrienne Matei, got me thinking about that chasm of being close to my friend back home and how distance made things considerably more difficult with the advancement of time. The title of her column, Live Closer to Your Friends, couldn’t have been more concise in getting straight to the point of her argument. Why we don’t often think of this puzzled me for two minutes, as it seemed evident with so many advantages.
From The Atlantic:
Yet young adults are conventionally expected to focus on their career, getting married, and starting a family. Putting this energy into coordinating a move with all of your buddies may seem quirky — but doing so could actually be really good for you. Having supportive friends is associated with greater day-to-day happiness and longer life spans, sometimes even more so than having strong familial or spousal relationships. It’s also linked to lower levels of depression and mental decline as we age. And friends are particularly important at a time when 36 percent of Americans report feeling “serious loneliness.” Although technology is making it easier to maintain long-distance bonds, nothing can replace seeing friends in person. Researchers have found that happiness spreads “like an emotional contagion,” especially among those who live close together. When one person becomes happier, their next-door neighbors’ chances of also growing happier rise by 34 percent; friends living within a mile of each other are 25 percent more likely to feel happy, and their friends have a 10 percent chance of feeling happier too. Live around people who make you happy, and you might create a feedback loop that perks up everyone around you.
Similarly to Professor Galloway’s column, loneliness appears heavily in Matei’s feature. A sense of dread washes over me when numbers such as these present themselves. It’s easy to see why. Life and numerous external factors prove and provide barriers to connection. The simplicity of having someone close by does and will change a lot of these issues. I can attest to this personally, as a couple of years back, I had the blessing and luxury of having several of my close friends in my building. We even had a three-floor party to celebrate.
The ease with which it soon became that we saw one another proved vital, especially during the early months of the pandemic. I can’t count the days we spent together at mine or theirs, just sheer floors away from our homes. When they sadly all moved out, I do confess not having that access has changed our bonds, and it’s made it tougher to stay close.
Side note: I live in downtown Vancouver, in a condo, which I understand is somewhat easier to accommodate friends living closer than, say, suburban sprawl — which on the whole, is probably the worst form of urban planning to have eroded our ability to stay connected. But I digress.
This wasn’t the first and certainly won’t be the last time The Atlantic posted a feature about friendship concerning its demise into adulthood. The magazine’s identity is to pen essays that resonate with the current time. The fact that the topic of friendship has come up so often during my research through their archives isn’t surprising — this subject isn’t new.
Nevertheless, what ended up becoming the proverbial tipping point for me regarding my thoughts on this issue was when I read Hua Hsu’s latest book/memoir, Stay True. The story follows Hsu’s journey from his teenage years into college life, how being an Asian American shaped his perspective in the mid-90s and why the bond he forged with a close friend changed his life forever. It’s a gripping and soul-crunching read, full of personal exploration and reflection, the kind of story that got at me specifically. Had I read this book a few years back, the narrative punch of his ache might not have hit me the way it did. Still, since I’d been mired amid my own struggles with my best friend, his experiences, some viscerally so real I had to pause while reading, made me understand and see his story in a much more empathetic light.
We often live our lives caught up in the storm of productivity and achievement that we sometimes forget to enjoy the simple pleasures that connect the dots. Friendship is one of them. Sadly though, it’s often too late when we ultimately recognize that it wasn’t and will never be the big goals we remember, but those precious days when we lived in the moment, usually with a good friend or two by our side.
A vulnerability comes with recognizing one’s needs in this world. It’s why social media flourishes. There’s an inherent human desire to be seen and loved, not just from family. At the end of The Shawshank Redemption, a movie more focused on the bonds we share with others despite the difficult circumstances it dwells within (it’s a film set inside a 1940s prison), for those who’ve spent years together, to leave them for a life of freedom, the very nature of our existence is brought into stark focus. For Red, the central character of the film, letting go of the only people in his life whom he cared for almost caused him to let go. Loneliness is a sickness best left for the dead, and he had to decide which path was worth pursuing, going back, letting go (death), or the hope of one thing — his good friend Andy. This, to me, is what sets this movie apart in so many ways, as it could have left the escape from Andy to be the best part of the story, which, I must say, is rather grand in its own right. However, not to let the bond die with his release, the final 20 minutes round your emotions into what the entire film was about — these two men and the friendship they shared. It’s as fitting an ending as there is.
Red chose to be vulnerable to his friend, so he went and found him. We can choose to live closer to our friends. Making an effort to see them is worth all you need to know. Decide today to be there for them. Our world is challenging, and we have many reasons to fall prey to melancholy. Don’t! Give the best gift you have in this world, your friendship. It’ll be the best return on investment you’ll ever make.
I first began writing this piece in early May. The idea swam in my head for weeks as I circled how I wanted to explore the narrative. The issue between my best friend and me was undoubtedly at the top of my psyche regarding story development. I knew I wanted to include it. At the time, I was content to let our predicament linger until I returned home in August. I thought we should do that in person to resolve things best. I knew he felt otherwise. This often left me wondering if my trepidation in extending an olive branch was making things worse. This idea never left my side. Surprisingly, however, by mid-month, on a random Tuesday morning, he called. Not once, but three times. Hungover from a dinner night with friends, I saw his calls with weird calmness. Gone seemed the resistance. The unease. The fear. I knew immediately that I would call him back and that we’d finally get to resolving this fight.
A few hours passed before I made the call. When he picked up, hearing his voice for the first time in nine months caught me off guard. I knew it well from years of conversations, but I’d forgotten his tone and voice’s deepness. With a few minutes of awkwardness under our belts, a dialogue took hold. He said his peace, and I told mine. Apologies ensued, and ownership was had. It was all I ever needed. I wanted us to fix this, but I also wanted him to take responsibility. I know my ego got in the way of us finding a resolution sooner, and as time passed, my understanding of what we were doing to our friendship — ruining it — began to weigh on me.
Was all this worth it to lose this bond?
It never was, and I knew that. I presume he did as well.
While writing a column about friendship, I got back the most pivotal one in my life. There’s got to be something to say about that.
