When the Friendship Has Become a Nostalgia Act

Dear Philip,

I want to know if it’s time to break up with a friend I’ve had since college.  (We’re both in our 40s, now.)  I’m feeling sad and confused because we were as close as sisters.  We were in each other’s weddings and have spent countless vacations together.  However, lately it has become a chore to see her even though she lives just a half hour away.  We don’t seem to have much in common, we get annoyed with each other easily and we don’t confide in each other.

I think she notices that I’m not making an effort, and she seems upset.  What do I do?

Drifting Away

Dear Drifting,

I had the chance to see the Rolling Stones a few years ago.  Great seats, fun venue, good company, but going would have involved driving for several hours and getting a hotel room.  I thought about it for a bit, and then politely declined the invitation.  Bruce Springsteen and the E Street Band? Different story: I will commit minor felonies and hitchhike across the country, even if it means standing in the pouring rain and watching them from the last row of the upper deck of the stadium.  Happily.

You, Drifting, have a Rolling Stones problem.

That is, your friendship has petered out to the point where it’s a nostalgia act: it’s all “Jumping Jack Flash” and “Sympathy for the Devil,” but you’re starting to itch for something of a more recent vintage.  Memories, you’re learning, are fun…but not the stuff of a dynamic, robust relationship.  Friendships that last decades are a whole lot more Bruce than Mick.

I’m not talking about musical taste: you’ll get no argument from me that the Stones have made some of the most important, lasting music of the last half-century.  The problem is that they haven’t added much to their canon since…oh, probably 1981’s “Tattoo You.”  Their concerts – for decades – have been largely ‘greatest hits’ affairs, transporting fans to a very specific time in their lives.

Which is what your friend does for you.  It’s great fun to spend a few hours in an arena playing “remember when?,” but spending several years that way can get tiresome…unless there’s something to anchor that warm feeling to the here and now.  You’ve got a friend who’ll run the collegiate highlight reel with you, but it sounds like you’re itching to share the present, too.

This is exactly why I love Springsteen so: for every early anthem about cars or youthful alienation, there’s a more recent song about the fears and joys of parenthood or the acceptance of aging.  For every “Born to Run,” there’s a “Wrecking Ball.”  I’m happy for the reminiscence of the former; I’m grateful for the personal relevance of the latter.

Nothing will take away the connection that you share with your friend: in some ways, she knows the young woman that you were better than anyone.  So unless there’s some real issue between you now, why ‘break up’ with her?  Those feelings of sadness and confusion mean that you care about her on some level, so find that level and cultivate it.  Figure out just how much time you want to spend on the friendship, and spend it happily.  You write that she seems upset because you’re not making enough of an effort…but maybe she’s upset because your anxiety about drifting apart has made you a little distant.

Don’t be distant.  When you talk to her or see her, be present.  Not every friendship has to be all things; embrace the fact that she’s your link to great memories, and enjoy her company for that.  Short, happy visits are the key.  Find things to do with her that will keep the conversation – and the potential for boredom – to a minimum.  Make some new memories.

Might I suggest a Springsteen show?  Just, you know, maybe cover her ears when the Boss sings, “Well time slips away/and leaves you with nothing mister/but boring stories of glory days.”

Rock on,

Philip

Follow Your Passion...When You're Sure What It Is.

Dear Philip,

I have to take issue with your response to the woman who wanted to quit her job and move to California to pursue her dream of acting.  She is young and single, and if she doesn’t reach for the thing she has always wanted to do now, when will she?  If she does what you suggest, she may wake up one day and feel a lot of regret.

You usually give great advice, but when you told her to stay put, you blew it. Carpe diem!

Faith (as in, “You’ve got to have”)

 

Dear Faith,

One of my older brothers called home from college – oh, back when Carter was in office – to ask the folks a question.  Here’s the short version of that conversation:

Brother: Dad, can I go skydiving with my friends?

Dad:  It’s ‘may’ I go skydiving, and no.

I remember cheekily wondering aloud why my brother bothered asking for permission.  Considering he was a thousand miles from home, how would my parents ever have found out, short of a coroner’s report?  My pop’s reply: “Because he doesn’t want to go skydiving.” 

One of the best lessons a parent can teach a budding advice columnist is this:  Often what a person really wants to know and what they’re asking you aren’t the same things.

Sometimes it’s a boy sitting with his college buddies, letting his parents put the kibosh on skydiving so he doesn’t have to let on that he’s a little afraid to jump out of a plane.  Sometimes it’s a 26-year-old woman who hates her job, looking for someone to put the brakes on her half-baked escape plan before she trades one lousy situation for another.

You’re not alone in disagreeing with me for telling ‘Ready to Take a Chance’ that she ought to concentrate on more realistic goals than her dream of being a television star, Faith.  I heard from several folks who’ve decided I don’t have a romantic bone in my body; my friend Andrea even ended her Facebook comment on the column with the Dead Poets Society cry of “Carpe Diem!” just like you.  A passion, you all agree, must be followed.

Which is why it’s a shame that Ready clearly doesn’t have one.  Some folks read her letter, saw the words “I have always dreamed” and didn’t see much else.  Like the long qualifier: “A friend told me I should figure out what I really want to do...”  Or the words that came after “dreamed;” namely “…of being on television.” We’ll get to the latter in a moment, but first a quick question:  On a scale of day-old coals to raging inferno, how burning can your desire be, if you need a friend to tell you to “figure out” what you’ve always wanted to do?

That’s not a small point, and I’m convinced that’s why Ready included it in her letter: even she knew that she was manufacturing an escape fantasy so she didn’t have to try to fix the situation she was in. I’m all for clean breaks; I’m just not a fan of poor planning.  Ready needs a plan.

And let’s be clear: “being on television” is neither a plan nor a practicable dream.  Acting – which you mistakenly quoted as Ready’s dream – is a path.  You take classes, you go on auditions, you take whatever crummy roles you can get, you learn, you go on more auditions.  Actors will tell you it’s a craft, and that it’s a life-long pursuit.  Dreaming about being on television?  That’s not about honing a craft, that’s how a child says, “I want to be famous.”  It’s a lovely (childish) dream, but it’s neither a career nor a path.

If you’re still not convinced that Ready was looking for someone to tell her to buck up and fix her life instead of running away from it, I humbly offer you two last questions, Faith:  Why would anyone burning with a real passion bother writing to their local advice columnist to ask if they should follow it?  And what kind of passion would let them listen if he said no?

Yours in seizing the day…thoughtfully,

Philip