I have never been good at goodbyes. Nor will I ever be. It is not an area of my life I am determined to improve.
If you read my post on vulnerability, you know I have moved around a lot in life. There has not been a lot of continuity in my relationships.
I have always prided myself on my ability to move forward without looking back. This also extends to people. I have kept in touch with some friends here and there. Over time, the conversations become less frequent. When we see each other again, we pick right back up. Of course, things are always different; we are different. But there are more people that I never spoke to again—people who I loved deeply, people I still love deeply.
They probably have no idea, and that’s okay.
Not all Change is Bad
I have lost touch with many people who meant a lot to me at different points in time. This is healthy. As I grow, I am no longer the person I was when I knew them, and I no longer need what I was getting from that relationship.
Are relationships transactional? In a way. Even though it is not ideal to think about them that way. We keep relationships that provide us something—even if it is just pleasant social interaction. The relationship continues because we are both getting something positive out of it. When that is no longer the case, what is the point of continuing it?
“If you are the smartest person in the room, you need to change rooms.”
I know, a cliché, right? But it is accurate. If you are no longer learning something, you should move on. Why do we apply this to intellect and not personal growth and benefit?
We are sentimental, and we do not want to think of ourselves or other people as disposable or a means to an end. We do not want to think of ourselves as disposable.
I do not think of the people in my life as disposable. I aim to offer as much benefit as I can to the people I am closest to. I do this based on how I see myself as a friend: dependable, a good listener, honest, good company, and a different perspective on life. I look for friends who can offer the same. Over time, the kind of support, things we enjoy doing, or perspectives may no longer meet the other person’s needs. At this point, I expect one person to leave the friendship or at least reduce the amount of time spent together. The most important thing is to treat each other, ourselves, and our time with respect.
On several occasions, I had close groups of great friends that dissolved over time. In each case, we would spend a lot of time together and had a lot to offer each other in the categories listed above.
I used to have a group of friends I would meet up with between three and six times a week. But life changes. As different factors became more important in our lives—relationships, jobs, exams, or beliefs, we spent less time together. In some cases, we drifted apart. This happens. This does not mean our friendship meant any less because it ended. I think, if anything, it made it more valuable because it changed and dissolved organically or changed because we changed. We grew.
I received a really great piece of advice once: Relationships do not mean any less just because they were for a short period of time.
I have found this to be true more often than not.
Recent Thoughts on People I Have Left Behind
Recently, since I have been trapped indoors with fewer stimulating activities, I have been reflecting on some of the friends I left behind. I hold onto strong attachments to friends whose pain and self-concealment remind me of my own.
In my post about Happiness, I talked about anchors. From the day I adopted her, Igneous became my primary anchor. Dogs are notoriously dependable and eager to please. Over time, this has expanded to include Jesse and a few other key friends. These relationships have been pivotal in my ability to grow as a person. To establish closer, trust-based relationships with those I cannot leave behind: think dog and cat adoption and marriage.
A friend from my past recently died. It came as a shock. We had not spoken for years. What right did I have to mourn this as a personal loss? I had no right, but it hit me harder than I expected when I first heard the news.
Rather than having one or two anchors, I have a bit of a Horcrux situation. At pivotal moments in my life, I split pieces of myself off and attached them to these people. The people who made me feel… human. Like I was not alone. Like there were other people out there, like me, who were hurting but pushing through. Surviving.
I built a strong attachment to each of them, even if they were not all aware of it. Knowing they were out there also reminded me in difficult times that I could do it as well; other people were.
He is the second one of these people who have died. The first one died a few years ago. Also, with his death, I did not know how to respond. We were still friends when it happened. I am not used to being the friend left behind. I do not know how to deal with loss.
Avoidant Attachment Style
I took this attachment style in relationships quiz. It says I have an avoidant attachment or dismissive attachment style.
“Those with avoidant attachment styles tend to have a lower tolerance for closeness and need more space and independence than the other attachment styles. Dismissive avoidant adults have developed defenses against having to depend on anyone and they find happiness and fulfillment outside of relationships. They may be workaholics who don’t have time for relationships or they may fill their free time with hobbies, friends, and casual dating rather than deeply intimate long-term relationships.”
This description is pretty accurate. Except I am in a long-term relationship. But if you ask Jesse, closeness and affection are not things I am good at. He would also say I fill my time with hobbies.
I can look back at my life and understand how this came about: I did not have much to attach to after a certain point in my childhood. I lacked continuity throughout it. Therefore, I looked to myself, hobbies, and short-term relationships to meet my different social needs.
Looking Ahead
You may disagree with me here, but I do not think there is a right way. I have one friend I still talk to who has been like a sister for sixteen years. I have some friends I love who I speak to sporadically. I also have friends who fundamentally influenced who I am who I no longer speak to. This is part of life. We grow; we change. We make new friends and let go of old ones.
I do not understand why I have this sudden sense of nostalgia for the friends I once had. I am not that person anymore, and they likely are not either. Maybe it has to do with spending so much of this year alone—well, with Jesse, Igneous, and Sed.
Spending so much time alone has shown me how few people I have who care about me. It has also reminded me that there are plenty out there I care deeply about—even if I do so in a creepy, from-afar kind of way. I prefer it this way. I know I cannot offer the kind of friendship I aim for to too many people. I would rather be a great friend to two people than a good friend to twenty. I would rather have that in return as well.
This works for me.