A Letter to a Friend

Lesson: Learning to acknowledge the pain of misclassified friendship

Just about every weekend, I drive to West Hollywood and Uber. I have a full-time job that I work Sunday through Thursday and sometimes even pick up extra gigs after that. So why do I still Uber? Out of habit? (I mean, I’ve done it for almost 5 years.) Because I’m a workaholic? Because I like to make extra money? Because I don’t have much else to do? Because I long for connection? Because it’s the only human interaction I can get when I’m not working?

It sucks to say that the answer to all of those questions is yes.

Oftentimes, and even as I write this, I make that hour-and-a-half drive only to decompress in my car sometimes for over an hour before I start working. I’ll finish a podcast, scroll through funny Instagram posts, eat a couple Fig Newtons, breathe, breathe, breathe … until it feels right. Until I feel like I can manage the day.

While I’ve known what drives this delay for quite some time, today, I realized what I’m waiting for. I’m waiting to hear from someone. To receive that text message or phone call. The one I know isn’t coming. The one that says, “Hey, I’m thinking about you,” or “I just want to talk to you,” or maybe “Do you have some time to hang out this weekend?” Anything to know I exist to someone outside of the time I’m physically present with them.

I don’t think I do. I’ve done the experiment. Don’t initiate a text message to anyone for a week. Work from home. Be avoidant. See what happens. 

I receive a call from my sister … maybe my brother if we haven’t connected in a while. Maybe a work-related text asking me to do something. That’s it.

Oh, The Old Perspective Argument

If you’re like most people, this is when you try to get me to shift my perspective to see myself as the problem and go down the list of things that I might not be doing to earn being noticed and seen.

Trust me, I’ve done the things. I’ve shown myself friendly. I’ve reached out, I’ve initiated, I’ve invited. Things that are incredibly difficult for someone as introverted as me … all to no avail.

Friendship, the Misnomer

Oddly enough, I’ve been called many things: a good listener, a “therapist” (which I am not lol), caring, kind, intentional — all great compliments that I’m grateful for, but one of them is pretty painful: friend.

For someone who struggles to find connection and companionship, that should be the most life-giving word; however, the problem I see is that we use that word so flippantly.

The word friend has become a cultural term. As someone who’s spent years studying business culture and organizational behavior, I realize that it’s used to establish a dynamic of belonging within an organization … to develop a culture of being seen, and its use spills over into people’s personal vernacular.

This itself, isn’t necessarily a bad thing. The problem is that it’s nothing more. It’s been stripped of its meaning. In our society, we like to use words as if meaning is subjective and words can mean whatever we want them to. But words are not subjective; they have definitions. Real definitions.

Friendship, The Real Thing

So what is a friend? The definition of friend points to a sense of attachment. A sense of being bound to someone. Literally “a person attached to another by feelings of affection or personal regard.”

That’s such interesting verbiage. And despite those who would call me friend, I don’t think many of them can say they are attached to me through affection and personal regard or concern. 

My roommate is about the only person who comes to mind on this front. We’ve been friends for almost 10 years. I walked with him in grief when his great grandmother passed, he walked with me in grief as my mother (who was like a second mom to him) passed. Our concern for one another’s wellbeing is personal. 

Story time! Some time ago, he scheduled a trip to Sacramento, his hometown, so he could visit his family. Because of schedules needing to coordinate and because of how long it would take to arrive, he scheduled the trip for 5am. Then, he asked me if I wanted to drive him to the train station so he could see his family. I said no.

Let’s pause here. Before you think I’m a bad friend, know that I had a point. Did I WANT to wake up at four in the morning to drive him to a train station??? Absolutely not. I’m a morning person, but having to be out that early sounds horrendous! 

So what was my point? My point was that what I wanted and didn’t want to do didn’t matter. He’s a friend. A dear friend. We’re attached to one another. His wellbeing is personal to me. In fact, he had every right to expect me to drive him to the train station simply because of the nature of our relationship. That’s friendship. Not only am I willing to be inconvenienced for you, but you can expect for me to say yes to choosing to be inconvenienced for your benefit. Friendship is a connection so deep that this must ring true.

My Deep, Deep Desire

I have a hope. A dream. A strong, sincere longing that the people around me would see themselves before extending such a precious word like friend. That they’d ask questions. Have I really demonstrated a sense of attachedness? Affection? PERSONAL regard? Do I even know the depth of this person’s heart? Are we actually friends?

I’m not saying this as some pompous way to uplift myself, make myself a victim, and demonize others. I remember being challenged by God, my favorite person to be challenged by because I can’t argue with him. I’d put work above everything, and I was always too busy to tend to the relationships I’d claimed to hold dear. Then, the invites stopped coming, and I was hurt. Until God told me this: Everyone’s busy, but you make time for who you truly love and care about.

Since then, I haven’t been perfect, but I’ve learned to put people before things. Before my desires. Before my schedule. Now, when people use busyness as an excuse, my response is, “Jesus is busy.”

If you’re a friend, I’ll make time for you. I’ll run late to an important engagement for you. I’ll adjust my plans for you. I’ll listen to you when the going gets tough. 

What’s my dream? My dream is to live in a world where those who call me friend would do just that: be a friend. Affectionately hold personal regard for me. And that those who are disinterested in the reality of being a friend (knowing that they owe me nothing) would cease to call themselves such.