What is a friend, and how does one go about making friends from that first initial encounter as mere strangers? What makes two people who have never encountered one another connect within minutes if not seconds? Or what about those relationships that are cultivated over time, going from mere acquaintances to at times the best of friends? What does the word “friend” even mean? These are the questions that float about my head on both the most tedious and exciting days; that is, every day.
The etymology of the word “friend” stems from the Proto-Indo-European root prī-, meaning “to love”, and subsequently throughout the (many) years came to mean “one attached to another by feelings of personal regard and preference,” via the Old English word freond. If I were to take this literally, which, along with logically, is how my autistic mind works, I would think that developing a friend can often thus be distinctly one-sided, for to hold someone in high regard and esteem does not mean that the feeling is mutual. Yet, this is not how society defines a friend. Or perhaps, it is, for how many people do we see, after years of contemplation, come upon the epiphany of “perhaps they were never truly my friend”? Regardless of how tangible the social modern-day definition of a friend might be (perhaps something along the lines of “an individual who holds a mutual preference of accompaniment with another”?), the pursuit of friends often is quite ambiguous, nuanced, and above all, elusive. We come into contact with many people in this lifetime, and how few of them do we deem a true “friend”?
I have yet to crack this code, although I must say that I am quite proud for at least producing some fissures amongst this cipher in very little time. I owe this to observance, for as of late I have immersed myself in group social settings as a sort of empirical experimentation to take note of what I have, for so long, been absent from. Bittersweet as it is being accepted socially for the first time in 20 years (for with every pleasant occurrence is the thought of why now, and why not then, as if the past is more precious to us than the present), it is delightfully fulfilling, albeit exhausting. Like a sponge, I am soaking up all the nuanced interactions of my peers before me, while simultaneously playing my part on the spot, a spot of which I am simply grateful to be in. It is an odd feeling, to watch my peers socialize with one another, after decades of isolation. I wish this to be known by those around me, for where I have been and what I have been through has made me who I am now. I do not feel seen in this regard, but I do feel accepted. This plays with the mind like a cat with a mouse, for after decades of standing out, I now fit in. I bid my goodbye to a past that I have grown so close to, that is so near and dear to my heart, for in my solitude I bonded with myself, and now I bond with others.
Yet I ask again, what is a friend? When I first dipped my toe into the waters of society, I thought a friend was one whom I could do anything and everything with. A fellow human that would hold my hand, and I theirs, through the entire journey of life, never letting go. If our hands became unclasped or the grip was not strong enough, it was my understanding that this human was not fit to be my existential travel companion. I am realizing though, that what society deems as a friend is often not even a friend, but rather an acquaintance. The term “friend” is near and dear to me, yet mere to most. I have dreamt of having one for so long that I wished them, once they came, to be by my side in absolute totality. I now, somewhat dishearteningly, am learning that this description is more apropos of an individual one shares a deep and loving bond with. Yet, that is my definition of a friend. Why would I not have complete respect for someone I choose to fall down the peaks and stumble out of the valleys of life with? Alas, I suppose this is a rarity, to find those special people that stay with you, whether in physical proximity or proximity of the heart and soul, until the end. Perhaps this is why it is so difficult for me to make friends, for my definition of a friend is society’s definition of a soul mate, romantic, platonic, or otherwise. Forgive me for misunderstanding this concept, for I have dreamt so long of it, perhaps it is indeed only true in my dreams, that a friend is with you until the end, and if they are not, then they are not a friend.
So now I must say that I was mistaken, for a true friend in society’s blurry eyes is one you enjoy spending time with, and perhaps nothing more. There can be a very minimal bond with an individual, yet when together still play off one another like a bow to a fiddle. An enjoyment of life occurs when interacting as if they are a fellow traveler of life passing in the opposite direction whom you sit down with to take a brief respite, just to stand up and proceed on your own separate journeys. Yet I do not enjoy goodbyes to those I enjoy life with, even when there is no deep bond, for I am a stern opponent of change, even though I have willfully forfeited each match against this only constant in life[1].
To feast on the bounty that is life is to starve oneself into a social famine, for isolation, when broken, brings deep gratefulness for the simplest of human connections. Yet here I find myself, yearning to hold onto the slightest interaction that pauses my solitary confinement. The individual who holds my hand while in “the hole”, so to speak, means a great deal to me, yet, unfortunately, those whose hand I hold are unaware that once our grasps unclench, I am once again left to my own devices in a deep, dark, and damp pit that I have already grown far too accustomed to. So, I wait until the next passerby grabs hold of my extended hand, a silent plea for help that is answered unbeknownst to (s)he who temporarily solves the issue “at hand”. I wish it wasn’t so. I desire that those who help me know they help me, and how much that means to me. Alas, I am too unsure how to tell them this, for I am not yet brave enough to confide in them my days in the dark, for that is time I spent, and continue to spend, with myself. A sacred torment that has formed a deep bond within me, connecting my mind to my soul, my heart to my spirit, and my purpose to life. It is an intimate connection to myself that I prefer to keep that way, for I am a walking contradiction, and wish to see both sides of a coin at the same time. Most are content with heads or tails; me? I cannot have one without the other, as only then does the full picture of “what is” become a little less murky and a bit clearer. Clarity, a gift so precious as it is rarely received.
So perhaps a friend, in the end, is what we make them to be. We choose some friends, some choose us, and perhaps the best of friends need not be a product of choice, but rather fate and fortune, for how bountiful is our life when we realize that some people have been our friends our entire lives, even though we are just now meeting for the first time?
[1]“Everything changes and nothing remains still, and you cannot step twice into the same stream.” – Heraclitus
