Our neighbor's voice carried across the crisp, fall air like a bell. "Do you ever fuck up on purpose?" he asked. After a brief pause he said "Neither do I." I know it seems inelegant, but some of the simplest, and yet most profound ideas are. Sometimes our best intentions don't translate.
It has been a little bit since I thought about friendships, but it seems like a place to which I always return. The last several years have taken their toll on many of my own friendships, and sadly, I have witnessed the friendships of others both take hits, and break down.
I'm not a gregarious person, and I have a toddler who has entered her terrible twos both early, and with gusto. That makes building new friendships in a quiet community, heavily populated by retirees, a little challenging. In spite of my accepted introversion, I think I do find myself lonely from time to time. While most of the friends I've had over the last decade were coworkers who live three hours away, I still often wish I could go back to some of my worst moments and have a second chance. Maybe then I would feel I could reach for a lifeline more often, and I wouldn't worry that I am unwelcome.
That's one of the things about adult friendships that is so very different from childhood friendships. We are quick to upset, anger and judge, and we are frequently hesitant to give each other second chances. It would be great to go back to that place where one day you squabble with a friend over a Barbie outfit or Hotwheels car, and the next day you're playing together like nothing ever happened.
This summer, I watched a loved one lose a twenty-year friendship. As a bystander, it was so difficult to watch that I couldn't stand it. I had grown close to the lost friend and his family, too. I butted in. It didn't make a bit of difference, but I love my friend so much that I would have moved heaven and earth to prevent such a heartbreak. About five years ago, I lost my best friend of at least thirty years. So, I well knew the anguish that permeates every corner of your heart and mind after such a loss. I have never stopped thinking about it, and I have never gotten over it.
There's usually a pivotal moment that we are unaware of in which we compromised our friendship without realizing it. It may be after a build-up. It may just be one over-arching event. What really sucks about it--to go back to inelegance--is we become so close to, and comfortable with our friends that we come to believe we know each other better than we sometimes do. We think we know everything they're going through at any given time. So, we think if there's a problem, they will share. Sometimes, we're just so caught up in our own struggles that we fail to see, and our friends don't feel like we have enough room for theirs. As a result, we don't realize that not every hurt or harm can be worked out.
The trouble is that, over time, things happen to, and about us. We are wounded by people and circumstances, and those cuts and scars can run much deeper than a fight over toys. And not all wounds heal well, or evenly. They change who we are and what we think and feel about ourselves as much as they shape the way we see others.
As friends, we sometimes fail each other, because we believe we have found that rare individual with whom we can share our flawed insides, without fear of being misunderstood or shut out. I think we all long for that feeling of safety--that one person who can fully know and accept us, and who always understands our intent.
But the cuts and scars get in the way. Friendship can be strong. But what we believe about ourselves and the hurts that we hold onto can be stronger. In some respects, that's the very reason we hold onto them--they are a defense mechanism. They whisper warnings when our hearts are getting too close to pain we have felt before.
And so, we shut each other out. We stop extending the benefit of the doubt. We let our fear, insecurities and need for protection outweigh all the moments someone was everything a friend ought to be. A few misspoken words are all that stand between maintaining deep friendships in which we would take a bullet for each other, and walking away forever.
It feels like that should be an impossible outcome, especially when you feel you are on the losing end of the situation. How can my friend not have understood me? How can my friend not be willing to give me another chance? How can something that feels so powerful and strong for me not feel like that for my friend?
Now, I know, sometimes we really do commit unforgivable transgressions against our friends, but I want to believe we know when we have done that.
Earlier in the year, I made a decision. I felt I couldn't teach my daughter that it's never too late to try and make things right with those we have harmed, even if we fail, unless I was willing to be aN example of that. I swallowed pride, and dug up courage to reach out to a friend I had worked with and been very unfair to. While the closeness we had will never return, it felt good to own the damage I caused and to set it free. I wish our friendship was intact, but I understand why it is forever changed.
A few months ago, I became aware of an incident that had hurt my best friend, that I somehow failed to see. It had been about five years since we had contact, and I was really scared to make the first move. I have plenty of cuts and scars of my own, and many that are still new and fresh. Still, I couldn't shake the feeling that I wanted her to know how much she had truly meant to me in my life, and how the last thing I would ever intend was to hurt her, or add to pain she was already feeling.
I let the feeling burn, trying to decide what to do about it. I kept going back to my own feelings about friendship loss--how can someone so important in our lives not be worth fighting for? Of, course, I was thinking that she should have known and understood that I loved her too dearly to knowingly hurt her. So, why didn't she love me as much? Why didn't she fight for me?
Why didn't my loved one's friend fight for him?
Sometimes, the cuts and scars are just too hard for us to see through. They blind us to what is real. They add insult to injury by stealing away from our lives the very people who would do anything for us.
Finally, I found courage. I reached out to my lost friend, and she reached back. Neither of us knows where our new path leads, but at least there is hope.
Sometimes, we just have to be willing to reveal our very cores to each other, and be willing to come back to the battlefield--unguarded. If we lose, we will surely walk away with new cuts and scars, but while this scar tissue can hinder us, it can also teach us many things about ourselves and each other.
And even if we still lose, we win, because we fought for something we know in our hearts we cannot afford to surrender.
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