Friday morning…
For the first time in nearly two years (two Christmases ago), I’m heading back to the Philadelphia area. I haven’t seen many of those people, family and friends, in that time. I’m looking forward to it, but I hate the “scheduling” of things to do and deciding on who I’d like to see – the guilt that comes with never having enough time for everyone. The trip was a last-minute decision built around wanting to get out of town and because there’s a band I’d like to see (Vapors of Morphine) playing at a bar I like (John and Peter’s).
When I think about my friends from back home, they fall into a few distinct categories: friends from high school, friends from my marriage, former co-workers, and women I’ve dated. Outside of a group text with the marriage friends and whatever I see on Facebook from the others, I don’t do a good job of staying in touch with any of them. This leads to a slightly different level of categorization: depth of friendship and/or how we spend our time together. Out of those dozen or so people, there are maybe three or four with whom I’d really want to hang out (dinner, drinks, and genuinely catching up). In and of itself, that’s not terribly unusual. We all have surface friends and deep friends. We all have those people who are fine in a group setting but with whom we can’t quite imagine spending a significant amount time. With the surface friends comes a slight fear of intimacy. Going beyond the surface seems like it would be awkward, and because it’s not the relationship we have, we don’t try for anything more. I have not told the larger groups that I’ll be in town – mostly because I want to hang with a few individuals.
I had made plans to go to the show with one friend. He and I saw the same band at the same bar a year ago – where a woman in the audience told the band leader (who was talking about how good the tater tots were) to “get to it tater tot.” Two days after making said plans, the friend texts, “Fly in the ointment.” As it turns out, Saturday is his daughter’s birthday. To me this seems like an issue that could have been anticipated….
Of course, I understand if he can’t make it. I appreciate that he wants to make time to hang out. He and I have known each other since the first grade. Years can pass and we can still have a good time catching up. He has three kids, and therefore little time – so the potential cancellation isn’t a surprise. However, what’s jamming me up is that the cancellation is only potential.
When he was committed to going, I reached out to another friend to make plans for Friday night. This friend and I used to get together for dinner every few weeks. He’s only partially available Friday, but completely free on Saturday. Therein lies my conundrum. I made the show offer to one friend – he’s noncommittal and so I can’t fully commit to the other friend. I reached out to the noncommittal friend to ask that he let me know so I can make other plans if I need to. I didn’t hear back.
This is where my inability do what’s best for me, where my desire to make it work for everyone, is what’s really the issue. A more forward person would tell the noncommittal friend, “no worries, another time” and move on. I get paralyzed over how that will be received. A more solutions-oriented, take-charge person might say, “hey, I’m only in town for a few days and trying to see a few other folks. Maybe we can hang some other time over the weekend, but I’m gonna offer the ticket to so and so.” Again, fear of alienating anyone keeps me from doing that. So, I wait and try to keep all options open. These particular friends don’t know each other, and as stated before, I kinda want to be able to give undivided attention. And so, as things stand now – an hour before I hit the road, I have no plans for tonight and only half plans for tomorrow. This, despite trying to make these plans all week.
If I find any of this frustrating, it’s because this seems to be how it always plays out. I make myself available. I adjust my schedule to accommodate people with busier schedules (which makes a certain sense), but in the end, things fall through and I’m left feeling disappointed. This pattern has been true in romantic relationships too. I can’t seem to find that balance between “I’m going to do what I’m going to do and you’re welcome to join me” and “I’ll prioritize time with you, I’ll wait for you.” On the one side I’m selfish and on the other I’m needy. Surely, there must be a middle ground.
Friday afternoon…
The noncommittal friend can’t make it. I asked if he had any other time this weekend – dinner tonight, lunch tomorrow? He doesn’t. I said no worries, maybe Thanksgiving. He said sure, “need some notice though.” That felt like a dig – like a pushing back against or blaming me for it not working out. I reached out to him a week ago – told him I was thinking of going to this show, would he be interested. I even called him tater tot. He said he’d have to check with the wife, after which he said, “I’m in.” That’s when I bought the tickets to the show, booked the hotel room, and hired the dog sitter. Then he remembered his daughter’s birthday.
Every so often, I see these memes on Facebook (less so now having given up social media)… They usually have some amorphous, human like being standing under the stars, or just plain stars, or some blurry sun-filled picture of fields of gold. The text reads like wisdom meant to encourage our inner strength, our solitary warrior…. “Never make time for people who don’t make time for you” or “people are always busy, it just depends on what number you are on their list” or “people make time for those who matter.” Despite feeling spurned by my friend, I try to avoid falling into the trap of cheap and easy resentment. The truth, in any relationship, is that they are seldom in perfect balance. One person is almost always doing more work. It seems that successful relationships understand this see-saw – they recognize these phases, and either work on them or wait them out. I’m disappointed that he had to bail on me. And there are times when I feel petty and think “I can’t be the only one trying to make time.” But when I pull back, I ask, “why not?” Aside from the small sting of disappointment, what’s the harm in continuing to try? Now may not be our time, but if I remain open, maybe next time will work.