I’ve become increasingly suspicious of direct routes. This is partly because most of the important things in my life seem to have arrived disguised as something else.
Friendships, for example.
Not all of them. Some begin with a very deliberate, “I’d like to know this person better.” But many seem to sneak into our lives through a side door.
One day somebody is simply a person you know and then, somewhere along the way, they become the person you text when something ridiculous happens, or difficult, or wonderful. Most friendships don’t arrive with a clear beginning, which may be one of the reasons they interest me so much.
Maybe that’s also why friendship feels so difficult to write about. There doesn’t seem to be a reliable recipe for it…slightly inconvenient for those of us who like a clear beginning, a sensible middle and a reassuring conclusion.
There are friendships that have lasted decades and yet I couldn’t tell you exactly how they began. Not properly. I can tell you about the shorthand that developed afterwards. The references nobody else understands. The stories that have become funnier in the retelling.
Most of us can tell a reasonably coherent story about how we met a partner. Friendship is much harder to package. “We were both at the same place often enough that one day she knew who I was dating and had opinions about it” lacks a certain cinematic quality.
It’s been on my mind.
Warm wishes,
Alex
P.S. If this has brought somebody to mind, perhaps send them a message. And if you’re one of the many people now trying to work out where a friendship began, I’d love to hear what you come up with.