The shrinking circles of friendship

For some people in midlife, social circles expand; for me, the opposite happened

Around the time I left to live in my room with a door, I realized something; my social opportunities - to get out and socialize with friends - had almost completely disappeared.

There is, of course, still connection. Both new and old friends drop in and out of my orbit as their personal circumstances allow. Occasionally, we meet for coffee or a meal in a restaurant, but mostly, our communication is transmitted electronically. We live our lives independently, checking in with each other via the screen in our hands rather than organizing a pre-planned get-together.

Maybe there’s a latent (albeit convenient) excuse. For the better part of a decade, my response to social invitations was mostly:

Sorry, I got hockey.

Source of image: cumberlandminorhockey.ca

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Today, my youth sports commitment has been cut in half, and for the first time in a very long time, I yearn for a re-ignition with people I fostered friendships with before youth sports took over my life.

As I emerge from my seemingly self-imposed friendship-hibernation, I stumbled across an article I wrote about a year go where I pondered the real meaning of friendship. You can read about it here:

Friendship as a topic has preoccupied me for a long time and yet, its definition keeps changing and evolving as I age - like fine wine - through midlife. Here are some fresh thoughts.

Semantics: friendships are fluid, not linear

Defining friendship is a unique and subjective matter, perhaps even one that observes a form of consecutive order:

• The primary friend is the bestie, the Best Friend Forever (BBF), the one who sticks by you and you by them consistently and constantly.

• The secondary friend is the one that is almost as close at the bestie but might be slightly more absent. Typically you don’t mean to choose her over the other one, but the secondary friends has slightly less availability or perhaps her response time to your texts is a tad slower. But the secondary friend might yo-yo in and out of your life and possibly even be a part of a trio - a threesome if you will. This may imply a decrease in platonic intimacy but an increase in fun and shenanigans. Think outings to an event like a concert or a seasonal party where three or more friends might make the experience more memorable.

• The tertiary friend might be assigned this nomenclature for geographical reasons, or maybe a specific circumstance. I consider a tertiary friend equally valuable to the previous two, although the connections might be less active; perhaps she is the one without kids whereas you have multiple ones, or vice versa. These friendships sometimes stand the test of time and as the family grows and flies the nest, a re-connection might be ignited.

All of the friendships, no matter their label, maintain a fluidity pending life circumstances and events. It’s normal to fluctuate; relationships evolve and transform as life, families, careers, partners and other influencing matters impact our state of mind.

Here’s the other thing:

The internet has changed the definition of friendship.

World wide web: virtual friendships

My closest friend lives on another continent. Two other friends, one with and the other without kids, live in my province, although only the mom-friend is within driving distance, the childless one is too far away to allow for coffee dates. It has become more difficult to find a mutually convenient time and activity to connect - in person - under the seemingly every-present busy-ness we all claim to be chained to; the mom-friend with her own youth sports commitments, and the other with an ailing parent in another province, an partner with some medical challenges and a busy career.

The internet is supposed to make it easier to stay connected.

I found this to be both true and false.

Consider the hand-held phenomena Boomers and GenXers have become as addicted to as their younger counterparts; is it really easier to foster a real-live connection with friends through the implied convenience of electronic devices with 24/7 accessibility?

I had a local friend once with whom I enjoyed a texting relationship. We were both early risers which made mornings before the rest of the world woke up the perfect time to socialize. Yes, we met in person at one time or another, but the central part of our connection prevailed inside our chat apps.

The connection fizzed out after about two years, likely because it missed the intricate and essential main ingredient of true friendship:

body language.

Typing words is how it started, but misreading words is how it ended; the lack of facial expressions and other physical nuances interfered with the relationship and contributed to its demise.

Which might be a lie; I have several successful virtual relationships with other friends who don’t live in my country. I have regular contact with people in England, Germany, Australia and various parts of the USA.

Our chats and emails nurture our connection and maintain it in ways that was less possible pre-internet evolution. And I cherish these friends as much as I do the ones inside my orbit, even the ones I have not met in person.

Introversion

Recently, I reflected on my pre-kids, work-outside-the-home social life and realized something: I wasn’t that much more outgoing then, either. A self-described introvert, I am comfortable in my own company and, if the name of my publication implies anything, happily sit at my laptop and type my words for the masses to read (if I dare to publish them). I don’t need endless outside stimulation to keep my mind fresh.

But sometimes, I feel like I’m overlooked, passed-over when some opportunity presents itself to meet in person. Is it possible my typical response “I can’t” or “maybe next time” conceived an expectation that I was happier left alone?

I acknowledge that life is cyclical. Maybe when I was eyeball deep in youth sports, the idea of socializing in a busy establishment held less appeal back then than it might today.

Dealing with rejection

Reaching out to reconnect with a long-lost friend involves an element of risk. Will they accept? What if they’re not the same person(ality) anymore? Can we pick up where we left off?

The fear of rejection is a component of the human condition which affects everyone at one time or another. This may be a good place to remind ourselves we are only responsible for our own actions and reactions, not for those of others.

When you act honestly, authentically toward someone and they walk away anyway, it says something about them, not you.

I’m always willing to be available to listen, to invite dialogue, to forgive and move on, but I am keenly aware it takes two to tango.

Sometimes I am left to dance alone. Sometimes, I choose to dance alone.

The gift of friendship

After years of endless obligations and responsiblities (parenting, youth sports, family drama) and not enough time for solitude, I finally find myself emerging out of my friendship-hibernation. I wonder if I should reach out to those who once belonged to my inner circle of friends. Or should I look for new ones? And if so, where? And how?

Clearly, I’m out of practice. I feel very disconnected from society these days.

I freely admit I struggle with the shrinking circles of friendships. The ones who prevail in my life albeit from a distance understand the meaning of the two-way street; the ones who disappeared did so not because I left first, but because I stopped reaching out first. I accept that relationships are fluid in nature, but equal give and takes is a requirement, a commitment, and not an option if real friendship is desired.