Kurt R.A. Giambastiani

I’ve never had a lot of friends. My cadre of close friends in school could usually be counted on one hand. Even now my FB “Friends” list barely hits triple digits, and few of those are close friends. It takes a while for me to form a friendship with someone new, both because of my innate stand-offishness, and because—I’ll admit—I’m an acquired taste.

Despite this, I do have some close friendships, and it’s not surprising that, now that I’m in my 60s, most of those are measured in decades. However, it’s a fact that over time people change, and that sometimes relationships require work, need recalibration, or simply cease to function altogether. It is also a fact that sometimes those troublesome changes are in me and are not my friend’s responsibility.

Recent events—and the reality that I and my cohort have begun to grey and stiffen—have led me to take a long look at the nature of my friendships, primarily to understand why some have begun to falter, but also to understand any changing dynamics, and to set my expectations at realistic levels. I need to know on whom I can rely.

I am a 100% introvert and was also the “invisible” child in my family, the kid my parents rarely had to worry about. As a result, I’ve always been self-reliant (often to a fault), I rarely ask for help (even when it is needed), and I navigate my social world in such a way as to create the least disturbance in my wake. This last one means a few things: I strive to take genuine interest in my friends’ lives and activities, to be generous with my time and resources, to be a reliable supporter and helper in time of need, and to be a relatively drama-free addition to the friendship.

And thus my issue, for when I do ask for help, I really need it, and when I raise concerns of a perceived imbalance, it’s serious. However—perhaps due to my pattern of self-sufficiency, or because I have misjudged the reciprocity of the relationship—responses are often muted and my requests easily shrugged off.

It is this level of reciprocity, I have discovered, that is a critical factor. Now that I recognize this, it is easy to see the difference it makes. Does this friend reach out to see how I’m doing? Do they express curiosity about things that are on my interest list but not on theirs? How well does the other know me, and how well do I know them?

In many friendships, this is irrelevant. Our interactions are cordial, conversations rarely dive deep, and we have large gaps in our knowledge of one another. But we enjoy our visits and interact over mutual interests. We’re not close, but we’re definitely friends.

In close relationships—my inner circle, if you will—my expectations are higher. Conversations are often more deep and detailed, and my knowledge about the other’s life is more extensive. I expect we have greater consideration for one another, a deeper knowledge of likes and dislikes. And I expect that we have a strong mutual concern for each other’s well-being.

When difficulties arise (I now realize), it is when this reciprocity is not present in what I had considered to be a close friendship. It is here that my expectations have proven to be too high, which has led to disappointment, strife, and ruptures in relationships.

Social relationships and etiquette are fuzzy things with few definitive boundaries. They are usually founded on tacit understanding of the rules, rules discussed more in the breach than in the observance, and they are rife with particulars unique to the friends involved.

But it is neither fair nor reasonable for me to expect a friend to do all for me that I might do for them. One can rarely know the depth of a friendship until it is tested, but I believe I have found a tool that I can use to better judge my position as seen from another’s perspective.

Friendships can be marvelously resilient or shockingly fragile. They can survive long neglect or require constant maintenance. None of these traits are any better or worse than the others; they are not flaws, but mere attributes of the relationship. Denying their existence is fruitless, but while we must accept them as facts, it does not mean they are satisfactory to our needs.

The key—for me anyway—is being honest about the relationship; that way, I can avoid critical misunderstandings and failed expectations. My hope is that I can avoid mistakes such as I’ve made in the past and the heartache that often came with them.

k

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