No Goodbyes

I've spent the last eight years of my life in a town that I had always said would never be my home. Not only is it just a little too small and suburban for my taste, but I had always kept in mind that this town was just a stopover to something more permanent, that everyone I would meet during my time in graduate school would be dispersing eventually. But the problem with spending nearly a decade in one place is that you can't help but make a home out of it. If home is where the heart is, then my heart is definitely with the truly special people I've come to know in graduate school.

I've always known that I'm surrounded by really good people here, and these last couple of weeks have especially reminded me of that fact. I never gave much thought on how saying goodbyes would be, figuring that I would just sort of see people in the midst of packing for my move and then just flitter away. My friends, though, made sure that my departure was an event, not only for me, but also for them. My roommate of four years, who's also one of my closest friends, organized a bon voyage party. And because I love costume parties, she came up with the perfect theme for me: FOSSE. Given that Bob Fosse was a director/choreographer known for a style of dance emblematic in shows like Chicago and Cabaret and not a style of dress, I really didn't expect people to come in costume. But these friends of mine were totally game. In spite of having to first ask, "What the hell is Fosse?" they went out and purchased their bowler hats, corsets, fishnet stockings and bow ties. I'm sure dressing up was just fun for them anyway, but I also saw their effort as a gesture of camaraderie. They took the time and energy to make my last party here something memorable. I couldn't have asked for a better send-off.

And then in smaller, more intimate gatherings, I was able to enjoy what I love the most, which is dinner at home with my best friends. This year, we started calling it the "writing cave," because we would all gather at my place for a group writing session and then end the work day with a meal that we prepared together. In spite of the fact that all of my friends are busy writing their dissertations, teaching summer school, dealing with things like deaths in the family, they freed up their evenings just to spend time with me during my last days here. I felt really loved and supported all week (all year, really), which is exactly what I needed to get me through the harshness of this transition.

When it comes to goodbyes I've never been one for tears or even very many heartfelt words, which isn't to say that departing from people with whom I've come to admire, love and depend on isn't deeply sad for me. It is. But perhaps the rush of getting the job, finishing the degree, and buying the home has allowed me treat this big move as an adventure to look forward to rather than to fear. And that's another reason why I love my friends so much. I know these goodbyes are really sad for them (not because I'm egoistic enough to assume that I'll be missed, but because saying goodbye to friends last year was a lot harder than I had anticipated), but they've been so generous about making my departure a happy one. They've encouraged me to be excited about this move, and allowed me to treat it as a personal triumph. I think that's true selflessness-- Being available for a friend, helping her out by simply doing tasks that make her life easier, and creating the emotional atmosphere that she needs. I needed fanfare, not a funeral. My friends gave me that, and I am endlessly grateful.

I hope, though, that even with my stiff upper lip, my friends know how much I love them and how much I'll miss them. I hope they understand that when I say that I don't believe in goodbyes and that they should come visit and stay with me anytime, I mean to keep them close and make my new home theirs as well. After all, I intend to carry my friends with me wherever I go.

Good Friends/ Bad Friends

A few years ago, I was in a relationship with a guy who wasn't into me as much as I was into him. I only say this now, of course, in retrospect, because I'm able to recognize how much I feared facing the fact of his indifference. I had no problems being the initiator, planning out dates, thinking of ways to surprise him, making room in my life for him. It had occurred to me many times while we were together that I was putting more into our relationship than he was, but I never could bring myself to let him take the lead. Sometimes I would wait for him to make me dinner, plan a getaway, tickle my fancy. But I would usually cave and be the initiator once again. So long as he played along with my plans, I was able to ignore the glaring fact that I really should have confronted from the very beginning: Had I walked away from the relationship, he probably wouldn't have chased me. I was simply to afraid to put him to the test.

Largely because that relationship ended in exhaustive heartbreak for me, I've been much better about demanding more from men that I date. The relationship that came after was much healthier. I let him chase me, and then would reciprocate when I felt ready to. The relationship was a lot more equal, and I was able to rest assured that his actions would correspond to his feelings. I had expected that should that relationship end, it would be because one or both of us could not give anymore. And that's pretty much what happened. While I was deeply saddened by the end of that relationship, I didn't walk away feeling spent and stupid. I'd like to think that I'm now brave enough to walk away from any man who isn't into me, no matter how much I may be into him.

One would think that the expectation for reciprocity should be even easier to manage when it comes to non-romantic relationships. But these past several months have really made me consider what kinds of friendships I've maintained. It's always the worst and best of times that make me realize who my true friends are. And sure enough, these past several months have been at once the most exhilarating and the most exhausting for me. Some friends have been fantastic-- They've celebrated my graduating, getting a job, buying a home, at the same time that they've provided emotional support and companionship when I've felt just downright freaked out about all these sudden changes and transitions. Some other friends, however, have totally dropped the ball. They've not even sent a message of congrats or even acknowledged that this has been a really big year for me. Strangers have expressed more excitement over my accomplishments than some of these so-called friends have. Some of the very same friends who have been the recipients of my gifts and congrats when they've gotten married, graduated, had babies, bought houses, etc., have completely ignored my announcements. And even worse, some friends are even burdening me with their needs and problems at a time when dealing with my own life is already taking all of my energy.

I suppose everyone realizes at one point or another that some people simply suck. (I'm sure I've sucked, too.) I should be able to live with that realization, except that, as I did with my non-reciprocative ex-boyfriend, I think I'm bringing a lot of this sucky behavior onto myself. After all, it's not as if these sucky friends were ever really good friends in the first place. Through the years, I've been the one to round them up for our reunions during the winter holidays. I've been the one to send them birthday cards. I've been the one to fly across the country to their weddings. But if I never did, I think I would just never hear from some of these people. And, really, those friends who are laying their problems on me have always been better at taking than giving. I don't know why I haven't been better at setting my boundaries. I don't know why I haven't walked away from these friendships.

Actually, I know why. I keep holding onto these friends because it seems to be part of my nature to just shut up and do things that need to be done. Or, rather, I've been trained to do so by my parents. My mother will do it all for people-- She'll chauffeur, run errands, cook and clean up after. She'll do this for anyone who will ask, and only hopes that her efforts are appreciated. My father is more selective with whom he will serve, but when he does choose to do things for someone, he won't expect any reciprocity or even appreciation. He's been taking care of my greataunt, who regularly talks shit about him to other people and accuses him of stealing from her, simply because he knows she needs the help. He doesn't do this out of self-martyrdom or obligation or love. He just chooses to do it because he can.

So when I've complained to my parents about feeling slighted or burdened by some of my friends, my parents don't have a whole lot of sympathy to offer. My mother will say, "You should be a good friend simply because it's the good thing to do; Stop being so petty." And my father will say, "Just do what you are willing to do for your friends. Even if they don't acknowledge or appreciate it, just treat it as a favor to them." To my parents, friendship, love, marriage, family are all premised on simply doing things for people. And yes, oftentimes those people are going to take your kindness for granted, receive your help without offering anything in return. That's just a fact of life.

So maybe I need to figure out if that's how I want to conduct my friendships. That's certainly my first impulse, anyway. If a friend needs cheering up, I'll host a party. If a friend is stressed out about work, I'll turn my home into a workspace and make her dinner. If a friend is a hot mess, I'll do the dirty work. So long as I can do something, I'll try to. But unlike my parents, I get miffed if I don't feel sufficiently appreciated. And I get downright resentful if I feel that my efforts aren't being returned. I start thinking that that friend is simply stingy, lazy, selfish. I start wondering if he/she is a bad friend.

And the thing is, I know I'm being unfair in my resentment. First of all, I shouldn't get upset if I haven't even communicated to my friends that I am upset. And second, I may need to be better at recognizing the gestures of friendship my friends do offer, even if they're unlike mine. But still, conceding these two points doesn't make me any less disappointed.

Maybe there is something about this turning-point in my life that's making me ration out my emotional energy. And maybe I'm ready to only spend energy on my truly great friends, those who treat friendship as something to step up to, not just coast on.

My Friends' Husbands

In all of my circles of friends, I am now the single girl amongst a bunch of married (or practically married) folks. I don't much mind that. Because I'm not attached to a ball and chain, I have the freedom to take a trip at a moment's notice, move across the country for a job, and hook up with as many men as my self-respect would allow. I also get to learn a lot about relationships by observing how my friends interact with their husbands.

I like all of my friends' husbands. They all have genuinely redeeming qualities-- Some are smart and talented. Some are reliable and responsible. Some are funny. Some are sensitive. Some are fantastic cooks. Some are attentive fathers. I'm really grateful for having friends who have avoided marrying assholes.

Still, as much as I like all of my friends' husbands, I've only been truly impressed with very few. And I think it's due to one quality that most of them seem to be missing: The ability or willingness to make friends with their wives' friends.

For example, I have a good friend who's been with her husband for nearly a decade. He's a very good man. He's loyal and loving to her, is very intelligent and accomplished, has good conversation skills, and has the maturity to treat her as a partner in building their life together. I've known him for almost as long as they've been together, and he's even stayed at my place and eaten meals that I cooked when they've come to visit. But in all the years that I've known him to be an important part of her life, I've never felt that he's regarded me in the same way. When I've stayed with them, I never felt that he bothered to welcome me into their home. He's never offered to, say, take us all out for drinks when I've bought a plane ticket on my grad student budget to fly out to see them. I don't feel that he dislikes me, but I don't feel that he's ever bothered to get to know me, either. He's not necessarily a shy person, so I can only assume that he just doesn't care to know his wife's friends. Granted, all of these things could be the fault of my friend, too. She's not the best hostess herself. And she perhaps doesn't feel the need to get her friends to like her husband, or maybe even prefers to compartmentalize different people in her life.

But I guess that's the lesson I've learned in observing their marriage: It's exceedingly important to me that my significant other gets along with my friends and family. As such, a quality I look for in a man is the ability and willingness to be socially generous. Maybe it has something to do with how my family works. Whenever I've brought home a boyfriend to meet the family, my family immediately tries to welcome him. My dad will joke around with him. My mom will cook him things that he likes to eat. My aunts, uncles, and cousins will include him in their conversations. My family is like this with anyone I bring home, actually. I have an uncle, who currently is also my landlord, who frequently takes me out to dinner. If I happen to be with my friends when he walks over with his invitation, he'll invite all of them out as well. My family does this not because they necessarily like the people I bring home. (In fact, it's safe to say that they've disliked most of my boyfriends.) They welcome these friends and boyfriends because they know that these people are important to me. So it's only natural that I expect these friends and boyfriends to treat my family with the same warmth and generosity.

I've come to realize that out of all of my friends' husbands, one of them in particular has this quality. This friend, who is also a colleague from graduate school, married a man who really acts on the saying, "Mi casa es su casa." I haven't spent a whole lot of time with them, but when I've had, I've always felt that I was being welcomed as their guest, and not just as a guest of my friend. He'll behave as the consummate host, preparing a delicious meal, and even sending me home with the leftovers. He'll open up about his own life and show equal interest in mine. He's perhaps the only husband whom I refer to as "my friend," rather than "my friend's husband."

Perhaps here's the catch: This friend of mine is not a woman, but a man. And his husband is perhaps my favorite of all of my friends' husbands.

I don't know if this says something about gay marriages versus straight ones. Maybe I can't really be friends with my girlfriends' husbands because, as a single girl, I pose as a potential threat. Or maybe this says something about the particular friends that I have. Maybe my girlfriends simply prefer to be with shy and socially awkward men. Maybe their preference is guided by some gender dynamic or social norm that doesn't govern gay men.

Or maybe it says something about me that my ideal husband is a gay man.