Friendly

On the way to my car in a large parking lot, two high school, possibly young college aged women approach me, bouncily. Clipboards in hand, smiles plastered on well colored faces, they burble with assurance, "We're doing a survey! Are you a friendly person?!"





Despite my automatic repulsion against being accosted in public, and deep resistance to bubbly salesmanship, I take a moment to consider the question.

"No." I say, and get in to the car. It was meant to dissuade them, answering truthfully the question they asked, although certainly not the one they intended. Mostly I just wanted to be left alone. I popped their bubbles of pretty assurance, also satisfying. I've told this story before, and we should listen carefully to the stories we tell repeatedly, they are the resonant ones. This happened years ago. And I think it means exactly what I said. I don't value "friendliness." I care about hard work, attentiveness, intelligence, kindness, compassion. I think shallow friendliness isn't necessarily bad, just neglectfully inadequate.

Those two elements, my own preference not to be messed about - (happy enough in solitude,) and a real inability to be sociable without a great deal of intention, means I have not made, nor kept, many friends. I'm blunt, offputtingly so to those I trust - because I expect to be understood and accepted by those who choose to be close to me, and I expect the same of them. I highly value the bare truth coming from those who see me clearly - or indeed anyone with a claim to clarity. I've looked deep into my soul, radically changed my behaviour, several times, based on such truths told to me. Rare and precious gifts, which I figure any friend of mine has a right to as well. Yes, well, we can all see how that would go, don't we? So do I these days. I would still prefer to be told, and I think a bit less of those who would prefer their comfortable lies. I like to be respected as a capable adult, and will take a bit of rough treatment as the reasonable price of that.


My desire to protect myself is at least as strong as my need for attachment. The veto, as these thing do, tends to decide. When I feel neglected, or used, I retreat. When I see what I deem a serious character deficit, I cut and run., considering it a gap in that person's character. But I also tend to want to trust too easily, share too much all at once - an urge I have stifled, which doesn't help in another way. I liked having a circle of friends, but all I really need is one or two. Since I have that, right here at home, more is a preference, not a need.

I've come to realize that much of the love I gave my mother and brothers grew out of my mother's stories of how much I was loved by them and by her. Wishful thinking on her part -given to me as gospel. Perhaps she was creating for me what she wanted to have with her own older brothers - who she adored, but one died aged 17, the other came back from the war married. She said she wrote to him every day while he was gone. Now, I am not in contact with her. She is abandoned again. The pattern repeats. I perpetuate it. It echoes in my life, but at least I do not pass it on to more children. I had to ask D again for "permission" not to call her again. He gives it, patient with my distress. I don't like being the sort of person who abandons her family, no matter the provocation.

I had a lot of imaginary love, fantasized relationships with people around me who barely noticed me. Eloquent conversations and gentle kisses with a boy in grade seven - when we actually spoke it was terribly awkward, dull, and he never did get around to kissing at all. I wanted to love and be loved, I wanted friends and trust and companionship. Mostly what came to me took a lot more than they gave. I cheered on fangirls, and had to conform to their opinions. Any loss of supportive enthusiasm of their pop culture focus meant the end of the friendship, any interest of my own brushed aside as irrelevant. Still, I often took what I could get, since there was hardly a line to seek out my company. I accepted idle companionship, since there was nothing else on offer, at any cost. Eventually, the cost escalated, and I never wanted to pay it again.

Today, when I enjoy talking with someone, my wariness of any expectation that I will stay in "audience" mode keeps me reserved. Holding back myself as I applaud and smile, not letting their drama touch me, only amuse me. After being the person who always does the calling, the suggestions to meet, putting in the effort to make time, and when I stop the friendship ends - I am watchful for neglect. I don't want to put in all the attention, only to be discarded and unappreciated, ever again. That uber-sensitivity doesn't really help, surely it comes off as judgmental and cold. I don't have another tactic. I'm out of languages.

I keep people at arm's length, open to closeness but never expecting it. Shallow friendships don't interest me. I can be pleasant and behave in a friendly fashion (for me) at work, be kind and compassionate, but know these are not real friends, not by my definition. I've stopped yearning for that, since I have one real friend who knows me utterly - and genuinely likes me for exactly who I am.

Would be nice, though. On par with winning the lottery. Neither is gonna happen. And that's alright. It really is. I'm exactly the kind of friend I would like to have. That's all that is on offer. It's all I have and everything I could need.

Playing the hand dealt as well as I can. At least I have a ace in my sleeve.