an ode to casual friends
By Jordan Jemsek (@jordanjemsek)
When I was younger, I treated making friends much differently than I do now. I did so in earnest, in fear, and in strife. I did so courageously, with valor, and the questionable and ever-anxious tactics of a preteen girl. I was a collector. I sought out friends like the rocks or Pokémon cards of which my brother had previously hoarded. But now, as both collections sit in my possession, I begin to realize the misconstrued intentions of those who seek to have it all.
I would have been friends with anyone. Best friends. Should someone have picked me of all the bigger and shinier tools in the sandbox, I would have considered myself lucky. It didn’t matter the face or name of the proprietor, a beggar can’t be a chooser, and pride be damned, I was a beggar.
But now, as I’ve grown older and wiser and developed far too many grandmotherly tendencies, I think about the world as if I have some sacred wisdom that I must pass on before I go. I think a lot about love, not romantic in particular, but the kind of love that comes as a given in any symbiotic relationship. I think about how love is defined in its many abstract applications and what it means to each individual. And so, within my definition of love, as it has grown and developed with the years, I find one common factor: respect. For me, to love anyone, to any certain extent, they must first earn my respect. I see this respect in the way they treat their surroundings, their parents, their friends. I see it in the unspoken promise of secrets and in thoughtful understandings beyond a surface level.
With this new understanding, moreover, came a setting of standards. It meant becoming the chooser and evaluating a moral of character for myself. The crushing blow that not everyone could logistically want to be my friend was devastating and shocking, but the even more enlightening realization I took was that I didn’t want to be friends with everyone. They hadn’t earned my respect. They hadn’t earned my love. And the clumsy and unconscious care I knew they would take with me made me want to distance myself.
That’s not to say I wasn’t friendly with them or didn’t give them the time of day. No, rather, in fact, I kept casual relationships with many of those who had what I deemed deserving of partial respect. Or rather, even those I respected greatly but knew the feeling would never be mutual. I didn’t think they were bad people; they just weren’t for me. I wasn’t lucky to be graced with their presence just as they felt mutually about mine. I think that within each individual’s complex ideology of love and those they choose to surround themself with is an understanding towards others and their respective closeness to different people.
It was something that took me a long time to figure out. That not everyone is meant to be close to you. That not everyone is meant for you. And that is ok.
I learned that the conscious strive for love is so much more painful than the unconscious proximity you will gain to individuals throughout your life. And that, I have found, is why it is so hard for me to let go. Because I know that when the school year ends and we inevitably all travel our different paths, it’s not the close, heartfelt friends I will lose, but the casual situational friendships I’ve made in this time: the girls who chat with me in class because we bump elbows writing notes—the boys who come to my house for a fleeting school project.
And it doesn’t matter how many “keep in touch”s or “don’t be a stranger”s they’ll write in my yearbook. We’ll all be strangers one day, bumping into each other at grocery stores with kids trying to drag us along because we’re talking for too long, but oh honey, just another minute this is my friend from high school and I haven’t seen them in years and we used to have Mr. Jones together and oh just one more minute it’s been so long.
I dread the longing for those casual, situational friends that will soon become strangers because people are not rocks or Pokémon cards, and when you’re no longer a beggar, you won’t force things like you used to. Because I know we say we’re friends, but we don’t really love each other like best friends, no, rather on the spectrum we’re closer to strangers and we’ll only get closer.
And that’s awfully sad. That this is the best I’ll know most of you for the rest of our lives, and yet I won’t force you to get to know me any better. Because you will continue to live and love, unconsciously and wholly, and I wish you the absolute best.
But should we ever meet again in the near future, don’t force a hello, but don’t be afraid to not be a stranger.
