On Friendships and Change
Last weekend, one of my best friends got married. I couldn’t attend.
I felt an immense wave of sadness wash over me as I scrolled through endless Instagram stories of the big day, but it took me a few days to realize why I was so paralyzed by All The Feelings.
Initially, I thought it was FOMO, but truthfully, the idea of dressing up, making small talk, and staying out past 9pm, even to celebrate two people I adore, is even less appealing to me now than it was in pre-pandemic times. It wasn’t jealousy, nor was it anxiety over the union of a perfectly matched pair.
The real underlying emotion? Fear. Fear our relationship would change. That the closeness that came from late night bar chats turned to mid-day lunches and dog park dates and Monday check-in texts would be a thing of the past, give way to the polite concern and superficiality of people who once knew each other well, but drifted apart.
Like J, whom I once hugged on the Chicago Marathon expo steps as he nervously recounted his first date with the woman who is now his wife and the mother of his child, a bond now long gone and replaced with obligatory holiday cards, baby gifts, and the occasional social media emoji. Or C, who hosted me and my ex at her family home for Christmas the first year I was away from my family, who let me cry in her office at work because she was the only co-worker my age whose office had a door, yet when I left that (abusive) marriage, not only said no to me storing boxes at her house, but stopped talking to me altogether. Or E, whom I ran into at the Whole Foods on Mother’s Day after running out of a yoga class crying, who made a beeline for me at the checkout line and wrapped me a hug too brief to capture the grief of our shared burden of infertility (she now has two children; I have none). While the mutual affection remains, the intimacy of those hushed and hopeful conversations in Pilates studio corners is gone.
Yes, most relationships are seasonal and situational. And it’s rare that babies, weddings, moves, or job changes don’t alter them in some way, but the never-ending pandemic has made it even harder to form and build connections with others. Mostly because I’m not the same person who once considered the whirl of travel and concerts and fancy dinners and pretentious cocktails and sequined dresses just because my Brand and Personality. I went to my first post-pandemic indoor show last week, and while the music was good, the one pre-show martini and 11pm bedtime knocked me on my ass the next day, so much so that I wish that I had stayed home at home in bed.
I used to worry that made me boring, but I’m learning to redefine what is “fun.”
Hanging with my newly sober friend and our dogs in our jammies eating take-out pizza and drinking fizzy Italian sodas while watching old movies or Scandi noir and going to bed at 9 p.m so we can wake up early (and hangover-free) to hike the next morning.
Running races and caring more about the people I get to connect with once I cross the finish line than my time or place.
Sharing astrology memes and New Yorker cartoons and playlists with friends, new and old.
Staycations with my best friend and road trips to run trails and hike with my dog.
FaceTime and real life playdates with my niece.
Taking on work that is meaningful and becoming a better writer because I’m no longer chasing bylines or taking on low-paying content or trying to pretend I care about shit that I don’t.
Being more present because I’m no longer rushing from one experience or perfect Instagram shot to the next.
Morning walks and mid-afternoon coffee dates with real friends who still like me, even without all the superficial BS I used to define my life in the Before Times.
Sometimes, there is freedom in change.
Oh, and that newly married friend? We have a lunch date next week.
