Thinking about love, pt 9: friendship
This Wednesday, my son Asa asked if we could go eat a restaurant owned by the parents of one of the kids at his school. We showed up at Cuba 1918 (if you’re local to San Antonio you must go, it’s a gem) and the whole family happened to be in the restaurant. One brother was a server, a family friend was in the kitchen, mom was seating people, and dad was running open mic night. His school mate was having dinner, a special named after him. Asa thinks this whole family dynamic is fantastic, because it’s just like Bob’s Burgers.
I chatted with the mom while Asa and his schoolmate played, first by the jukebox, then on the back patio. When we left, I said, “Well that was fun! You got to have a playdate on a school night.”
“Yeah, an unexpected one,” he said. Then he said the words I’d been hoping to hear. “He’s my friend.”
Asa has been in that unlucky place lately where your friends keep moving away. I’ve been through the cycle myself a few times, and it’s really painful. But, being 8, he’s got plenty of opportunities to build new friendships, but that’s a vulnerable, difficult process at times. Most 8-year-olds are not as analytical as Asa, so most kids would probably endure this uncomfortable season with less concerning (terrifying) explanation of their loneliness. Asa, however, has skin-dived to the depths of his young soul and come back with emotions most of us cannot articulate until our late 20s, but also with his own philosophy of friendship.
Asa has been unwilling to use the word “friend” for most of his present acquaintances. He will use “companion” or “playmate.” Occasionally he will let me know that there’s a growing percentage of friendship with someone. When he told me that the kid from school was his friend, I knew that this meant something significant.
“Sometimes we argue,” he said. “But that’s just part of friendship.”
“What are the parts of friendship?” I asked.
He listed five things, and I think he got it right.
Grief
It was so striking to me that this was the first thing my 8-year-old listed as part of friendship. But honestly, I think he’s right. The difference between a friend and someone you just have fun with, a playmate, is how they relate to your grief.
It’s so easy to spend time with sunshine people. It’s so easy for us to slip into roles of making each other laugh, or distracting each other from our problems. That’s a critical part of friendship, which we’ll discuss in a moment, but it’s not a standalone. Real friends make room for the unruly, disorderly process of grief, in all its inevitability. They don’t need you to wrap it up in a neat little conclusion to make them feel better. I’m notorious for trying to give my own grief a summary thesis, complete with my three point plan to move past it. My real friends don’t need that.
In every deep friendship I have, I can remember the moment grief entered the relationship, mine and theirs. They are too intimate to tell on a blog. Sometimes it was a big, obvious meltdown. Sometimes it was an undeniable tragedy. Sometimes it was simply learning about the oldest wounds, and bringing the medicine without being asked.
Happiness
Friends do make you happy though. It’s not their job, it’s just a byproduct of the connection. The little zap of glee I feel when I get a text alert from someone tells me a lot about our friendship. I do think that there has to be a certain amount of mutual enjoyment to sustain a friendship, but it doesn’t have to be manufactured. A friend isn’t someone who treats me like a client or guest to be “made happy.” It’s someone whose existence makes me happy, and the luckiness I feel that this existence includes me.
It really helps when you make each other laugh and enjoy playing together, and its even better if that happens in the course of making yourself laugh and playing the way you like to play. And, yes, I guess there are times when I do put in the effort to do things just because I know it will make my friends happy. But not because I have to, but because I like knowing that the sparkling water of their heart just got shaken up and erupted into bubbles.
Arguments
The fact that Asa added this component to friendship made me really proud. But I think the actual credit goes to Bill Watterson, the author and illustrator of the Calvin and Hobbes comics. We’ve been reading through my complete collection of those comics strips, and it’s impossible to miss how much Calvin and Hobbes fight, to the point of the classic swirling brawl with feet and tail sticking out amid a flurry of onomatopoeia, and yet remain best friends. Psychologists point to lion cubs and wolf cubs and other little animals whose play involves some amount of biting. The idea that a relationship can hold even genuine anger is actually really beautiful, and something Asa understands better than I ever have.
One night, when it was time to stop reading Calvin and Hobbes, Asa was mad. He pleaded and scowled and ultimately sulked in his bed. I asked if he wanted me to leave, rather than stay and scratch his back until he fell asleep.
“Do what you want,” he said, bitterly.
“I want to stay with you, but if you’re angry and want me to leave, I want to respect your wishes.”
“Ugh. Mom, of course I want you to stay,” he snapped. “You know I can be angry and love you at the same time.”
So there’s that. But there’s another component to the arguments part of friendship as well. Recently, as I’ve been touring my book, which is all about the stories we tell about divisive political issues, every single Q&A will include this question: How do I convince my (insert family member or friend) that their politics are (insert synonym for evil) without ruining the relationship?”
I don’t have the answer to that question, and for a long time I’ve struggled with my inability to give tips and tricks for navigating those conversations. People really do want help. The first problem is that no one responds well to being told they are wrong, and if your goal is to change their mind to your political opinion, then you’re basically trying to have a rational discussion in an arena completely run by emotions. So good luck.
But the bigger issue, I think, is with the second part of the question, “without ruining the relationship.” And for that, I believe, you have to scrap the debate you WANT to have altogether, and first address the vulnerabilities and wounds in the relationship. Because I will tell you, I love to disagree and work through differences of opinion with my friends. Even “arguing” in the formal sense of the word (not the emotional connotation) can be really fun when there’s security in the relationship. I have been discussing volatile political topics with friends a lot lately. Agreeing is nice — it’s a confirmation that we share values and perspectives. But disagreeing is wonderful too, because it reminds us that our friendship is sturdy and safe.
Companionship
I’m a little mystified by Asa’s distinction between friendship and companionship. Companion seems to connote emotional closeness. But for him, I think it means physical closeness, or just doing things together. Someone to keep you company and ward off the loneliness. Like a pet.
And I think that this willingness to accompany each other is vital. Companionship in friendship is that investment of time and presence. We make sure that our friends are not facing the world, or the funeral, or the medical procedure, or the challenging day, or the coming out, or the break up, or the bad news, or the cross country road trip to move house alone.
Energy
Obviously, I was delighted when Asa added this final element of friendship. By energy, he means someone who can keep up with him, physically. He’s really into feats of strength at the moment and all he wants is someone who will arm wrestle, do push-up contests, box, or sword fight. He want someone to match his energy.
I do too. I don’t want to challenge my friends to an arm wrestle, but I do think that it’s important to be able to match each other’s energy.
How you relate to the world, time, commitment and vocation make a huge difference in friendship. Unlike Asa, I have a hard time with people who want to compete all the time. Or fix me. Or people who are eternally on the warpath. Or flaky. Or casually confrontational. I don’t like to talk shit all the time (just every now and then). While it seems like I’m being excessively picky, let me tell you that I know what’s difficult about my energy, too. I’m not for everyone. It’s easy to enjoy my more entertaining energies, my people pleaser bits. But that’s for the masses. For the chosen few, something exhausting awaits.
I’m introverted, but intense. I can have a sustained conversation about heavy topics for hours. Days even. I want to see your soul, and stay up late talking about it. When I love someone, I tell them explicitly. I travel to see them. I buy them gifts and surprise them and all of that love-bomby stuff. And that energy is really difficult to match, I know that. It’s why I spend a lot of my life wondering I’ve run people off, given them the yucks (can we please thank No One Wants This for bringing back that term), or smothered them. It makes me waaaaay oversensitive. It’s also why I don’t commit to many people, because my commitments are 1) set in stone, and 2) energy intensive.
I’m lucky enough to have a few friends who’ve figured out how to sustain a connection to that much voltage. I’m incredibly thankful for them. And I’m incredibly thankful for Asa, the friends he’s making along the way, and the friend he’s learning to be.