Going for the Gold: Nurturing Old Friendships

Today I got together with a friend from college, someone i've known for 35 years. I was reminded of the old folk rhyme:

Make new friends but keep the old;

One is silver and the other is gold.

As most of us get older, the list of active older friendships pares down. When ourlives get busy, it may be tempting to let them go to seed. But old friends are the ones who know us from a long time back. The accrual of memories feels like the layers of an onion; peel back far enough and you arrive at the core, which may be a truer representation of your self than the face you show to the world now.

She and I agreed that from now on, we'll get together quarterly rather than let an entire year go by without meeting. We live in different cities, separated by a river. Our schedules don't mesh well. But we have to make the effort. Gold is too precious to waste.

Building a Personal Village - Roaming Your Space, Reclaiming Your Place

I'm re-reading Marv Thomas's Personal Village after having read it and gone to a presentation by the author about 15 years ago. Back then I'd found it interesting; however, at the time, I hadn't needed much help finding fellow villagers. Just having a child in elementary school almost automatically provided a ready-made circle. At the time, I was also able to attend neighborhood association meetings because I worked in the public school system and had every evening free. 

Now that I'm revisiting the book after more than a decade, I'm finding advice that could help me repopulate my own personal village. Thomas's rules for "having people in your life by choice, not chance" are simple: roam your neighborhood or area, choose a place to hang out and keep showing up (according to Thomas, 7 is the magic number - after around 7 show-ups, you'll be accepted as a regular). He also details the various types of friendships and circles, and how to choose and join them. 

Last week I decided to take his first steps to heart, and start a more conscious style of roaming. I'm a walker (I call my walks city hikes) and am familiar with my own and the surrounding neighborhoods. But roaming with intention differs from casual strolling or power-walking. While roaming, you make it a point to greet everyone you encounter and take note of places of interest - a coffee shop that might be your next hangout, a house whose quirky decor makes you want to meet the owner somehow, or a sign outside a church that advertises the next neighborhood association meeting being held there. 

I've decided on two roaming routes, one for both my days off: on Friday I'll walk upper Main St. and window-browse with the dog (having a dog gives you a good reason to walk anyway!) and most Saturdays I'll walk to the farmers' market, a good place to hang out for an hour or two. I always see a few familiar faces there, and eventually some of the new-to-me faces will also be familiar. 

An Island in the Middle of the Sea

That's what today's get-together with two ladies from my writers group felt like. We hadn't gathered since December, and we found out last week that one of our oldest members had died. Back home, I was struck by how much better I felt after the gathering even if there was sad news. I'd forgotten how essential it is to come together regularly.

Deciding What You're Looking For

Several years ago I realized that throughout my life, I'd had a tendency to collect needy friends, and that some of my current friends - a minority but a noticeable ones - seemed to require a lot of mothering. After deciding to let these friends go (it didn't entail any showdowns; they just drifted away when I stopped being chronically available), I knew that in order to cultivate healthy friendships in the future, I had to set the bar higher. This included figuring out exactly what I was looking for in a friendship. But how?

A book that seemed to tumble off the library shelf as I passed by (funny how that happens) came to my rescue. The title, Choosing Me Before We, sounded interesting. As I scanned the book, I saw that while it deals with dating, partnering & finding "Mr. Right," the process could be altered slightly to make it work for finding new friends.

I found her exercise The Core Four - a process for identifying the four most important traits or characteristics you're looking for in a mate (and for me, friends) - especially helpful. Based on my experiences up till then, I chose mutuality/reciprocity - the ability to give as well as receive care & comfort - as one of my own Core Four. Other characteristics might include loyalty, excellent communication skills, listening or a key shared interest.

If you're starting from scratch or starting over in terms of your social life, I'd recommend this book. If you do the entire process from beginning to end, it can take awhile. However, I found the resultant clarity to be worth it.

Starting Out: Scan the 'Scape

What does your social landscape look like?

Like many adults, you probably realize that there are  different types of friendship. But have you ever taken an inventory of how many people are in your various corners? Or have you attempted to figure out what types are especially important to you?

Here are a few friendship types that come to my mind:

• The Confidante: someone you can entrust with important information about yourself and with whom you can sort out sticky situations.
• The Good Time Gal (or Guy): the friend who's always up for a night out.
• The Taskmistress or master: the friend who isn't afraid to hold you accountable when necessary, even if it means you'll be mad at her for a few days.
• The Chillaxer: the buddy with whom you can simply sit and br-r-r-eathe. 
• The Comforter: the one you turn to when you just need a shoulder to cry on, sans advice.
• The Advisor: the friend you see after having cried yourself out.
• The Groupsters: the individuals who form part of any group you may belong to.

And so forth. Sometimes one person can fill several of these roles. Most people can't fill all of them.

Several authors (Feldon, Thomas) advise also including people you see on your daily rounds, even though you might never have a lengthy conversation, such as sales associates at the supermarket, tellers at your bank or credit union, the bus driver or mail carrier. All are part of your personal landscape.

Take an "audit" of this scene. How many friends do you have in various roles? Are these relationships satisfying? If not, what changes do you need to make? Do you find yourself stuck in certain patterns or ruts? Does anything or anyone feel like it's missing, like there's a noticeable gap? 

After this, take a mental time-release photo of your people-scape for the last month, year, 2-3 years. What overall impression stands out? If you feel like something important is lacking, can you put it into words? Or maybe draw a picture or diagram? 

One friend who did this saw the spontaneous image of a turnstile pop into her head. Although she'd never thought about her situation before, the image made sense. People had been entering & leaving her block, workplace and social sphere at an unsettling rate. That's why she'd felt so adrift for the past year. Putting a finger on the issue didn't solve the problem but it put her in the position to start thinking about ways she could invest in a few stabilizing relationships. 

You can't get from A to B until you find point A on the map. A friendship scan helps you find the starting point.

A Break for the Bridge Builder

In her book Living Alone and Loving It, author Barbara Feldon (of Agent 99 fame) talks about the importance of being a bridge builder if you want your circles to stay together. A bridge builder is the one in any group who stays in touch, initiates the first contact, makes arrangements for the concert or theater, gets everyone together and often keeps them from drifting apart. I've also heard these folks referred to as the Glue, as in "He's the glitter in that family, and she's the glue."

Those who naturally take on this role among family and friends usually relish it. By temperament they're often do-ers, oriented towards actions that produce results. Getting a new book club or art group organized is a little like starting a business, and people who do it regularly often have an entrepreneurial streak.

But sometimes even the most ambitious, outgoing or friendship-appreciating bridge builder gets tired. It may be especially discouraging if she finds herself making the arrangements over and over, or when she suddenly realizes that if it weren't for her efforts, the whole team would have gone down the tubes years ago. It's especially difficult in glitter-glue relationships, where the bridge builder may be doing all the hard unglamorous work while more high-profile friends or colleagues get all the kudos. When this happens, it's time for a holiday.

While I'm not exactly the effervescent go-getter that many bridge builders seem to be, I somehow found myself holding that position in several of my circles, all of which had been in a slow decline for 2-3 years. One day about five months ago I finally faced the fact that two of them were gone and not coming back. The members of a third kept professing that they missed everyone and really wanted to get going again, but they could never quite make it happen. I organized three different holiday gatherings (at coffee shops, so it didn't entail much hands-on work), felt tired and a little depressed when the last one was over, and threw in the towel on bridge building. If we were going to get together again, someone else would have to instigate it.

To keep myself from rushing into new involvements prematurely or launching half a dozen new meetups, I decided to take a full half-year off from any kind of initiating. During this time I'd do some deep thinking about exactly what I wanted, outside of my job and home life. I'd poll myself to see if I really wanted to finish that novel or if I'd been flogging away at it because I couldn't bear to leave my critique group. And whether the choral group that had disbanded was still fun and challenging, or if I'd stayed merely because nothing else was looming on the horizon.

Underneath all this lay an idea I'd read in a book by life coach Barbara Sher, who says, "By the way, if there's a lot of who missing from your life...get your show on the road and you'll find that other people will want parts in it." For me the most solid post-college friendships have originated with some type of group effort which I joined because I enjoyed or was intrigued by the activity itself. The friendships were a by-product.

For people like me, it would make no sense to choose any old class out of the community ed catalog or plunk down in the nearest seat at the neighborhood bar and expect to meet kindred spirits. If, like me, your deepest relationships come from sharing a common passion or purpose, the first step is to find that purpose.

For help with this, try the process in Sher's classic book Wishcraft. It may be almost 35 years old (in fact, the terms life coaching and personal coaching weren't even around back then - there weren't any labels for what Sher was doing!).

So that's my bridge-builder's holiday - deconstructing everything I've been doing during the past 15-20 years, seeing if it still fits and asking myself what I might like to try next. The process is slower than I'd like and is sometimes painful, but I'd recommend it to anyone at one of life's crossroads.

Currently my weekly round is a lot quieter than it used to be. Some people in midlife find that they enjoy the quietness that comes from disengaging, powering down or simplifying. I don't But I don't expect it will be that way forever. I try to see it as laying a foundation. Foundations look dull; the castle or cathedral on top gets all the attention. But without the foundation, the whole structure could collapse.

A good bridge builder knows the value of strong supports.

We're All Colorful Characters

I've just finished reading one of my favorite books about relationships, Tom Maddron's Living Your Colors. When I was enrolled in my life coach program, I found myself reading everything about personality or temperament types that I could get my hands on. For some reason the topic fascinated me, possibly because it explains so much. Why do I hit it off with some people and not others? Why have I loved working for certain bosses? What's up with that committee I'm on, the one that can't seem to make the smallest decision? I'm sure you've experienced these situations as well.

Although I've also read about the Meyers-Briggs, Enneagram and other typing systems, I found Maddron's colors the easiest to understand and apply. He designates four basic colors/types, with every individual being a unique combination of these colors.

• Greens are thinkers. They tend to be drawn to the intellectual life and may seem somewhat reserved.
• Blues are primarily feelers. They "swim in oceans of emotions," value the connections in their lives and may seem overly sensitive.
• Oranges are sensers. They prefer doing to deliberating, appear happy-go-lucky and love the active life. Because they're easy come - easy go, they may seem uncaring at times.
• Golds are known for being responsible and conscientious. Because of their attention to detail and "getting it just right," they may seem nitpicky.

The system looks simplistic at first, but each of us is a combination of colors in various proportions. Everyone, however, has a dominant color or mode of operating. Once I became familiar with this system, I was able to see why I couldn't seem to warm up to some people and why my various groups - department at work, committees, book groups etc - worked the way they did.

One particular group. involved in the arts, had baffled me for a long time. I loved the work we were doing but something was missing from the overall experience. In addition, a newer member had mentioned to me that he often felt left out; he described the group as cliquish. After considering the personalities of the various members, I suddenly realized why he and I felt this way: we were both predominantly Blue, and most of the other members were primarily Green or Orange. Because of this, he and I were bound to notice interpersonal nuances that the others seemed to miss, and perhaps assign too much importance to them (a common fault in Blues). 

I realized that if the group was to become more welcoming towards new members, it was probably up to me and my Blue colleague to get the ball of change rolling. I also saw that most of the members would probably not share my wish to be best buddies as well as colleagues, and that if I accepted what I saw as a lack of depth in our group relating, I'd be better able to make the most of what we did have - an excellent creative energy.

Sometimes a friendship may not need a major overhaul. It may just require mutual understanding of each other's ways of seeing the world, and making a few adjustments in expectations or communication. 

Book Review: The Art of Friendship

Although "70 simple rules" may sound like an oxymoron, the guidelines in Roger and Sally Horchow's little gem of a book really are based on simplicity and common sense. The suggestions that could seem old-school or outdated to some readers are actually the most valuable: send the occasional catch-up or thank you note by snail mail; sincerely given gifts are fine; be totally present (turn off your phone!) when spending designated time with a friend.The father-daughter Horchow team give social networking its due but courtesy and consideration always come first - truly a refreshing perspective.

Read this if you've been experiencing dissatisfaction with your relationships and see if some of the tips speak to you.

Once there was a way

Last week I was in the car, running errands, when the Beatles song with the line "Once there was a way to get back home" came on. I'd never found this particular song memorable before, but for some reason the line stayed in my head for days afterward. The feeling it evokes feels somehow familiar, even though I've had a hard time pinpointing what "home" would mean for me. 

I've heard other women in midlife mention this feeling, which I'd describe as a vague homesickness for something we can't put our fingers on. For one colleague, having an empty nest precipitated this mood but it isn't the whole picture. For some, divorce or losing a job might be the trigger. There are all kinds of life events and conditions that contribute to a feeling of not being fully connected.

However, it seems to me that one of the most overlooked & underestimated conditions is something I'd call friendship deficit. My husband tells me that Boomer men are prone to friendship deficit because they rely so heavily on wives or partners for emotional connection.  I've met a lot of women with  friendship deficits, although in their cases it's because they spent so much time caring for others that their emotional gas tank is dry by the end of the day. 

For most of my life, from around age 10 on, I'd had an abundance of friends. These included friends with whom I could talk about anything, sounding-board friends, good-time friends, co-adventurers, and usually several groups or circles that revolved around an activity such as a book club or choir. Even after having a baby at 32, I proved to myself that all the dire predictions I'd read in women's magazines and parenting books were wrong - having kids didn't mean everything else would shrivel up and blow away. Like other parents in our various groups, my husband & I just strapped on the baby carrier and carried on.

But 18 years later, shortly after my son Noel left home to attend an apprenticeship program, other changes began. Two friends I'd seen regularly for a decade both moved to different states within months of each other. Several coworker friends left for new jobs, which really changed the tone of the workplace for me. Over the following year, two friends went back to school, one was given custody of a grandchild, and a few more friends simply dropped out of sight. I felt like a space shuttle shedding parts left and right as it hurls towards space.

Things came to a head last summer when two groups I'd belonged to for 12-13 years dissolved within several months of each other. These weren't the sort of passion-infested breakups for which rock bands are famous; they were gentle fade-outs caused by geographic moves, schedule changes and simple loss of interest. But when September rolled around without a fresh schedule of meetups and practices to look forward to, I realized how empty the year was looking. 

I'd been used to having a fairly lively social round (Tom tells me that I used to complain about the busyness every December), so at first I made the same mistake that zillions of newly-single make: I ran here and there, trying out new book groups, photography or gardening clubs, community ed classes & volunteer gigs in an effort to find something that would fill the gap. In hindsight, I think I was a little frantic. Everyone I met was nice but I didn't find a new flock of kindred spirits. 

Only within the last month did I realize that I've been given the opportunity to press Pause, think about what what I'm really looking for in friendships now that i'm older, and make deliberate choices rather than desperate ones. I've finally faced the fact that certain relationships have been so high-maintenance that it's questionable whether they could honestly be called friendships. A few friendships were still breathing only because I'd kept them on life support myself by sending a "Hello-o-o-o! You still there?" email once in a while. Is it really a friendship if the friend needs constant prodding, seems unable to initiate anything or doesn't call unless she wants a favor? Is it a friendship if this person makes me feel more like a mom than a companion?

How do you find friends, anyway? Are reciprocal relationships really possible in a culture that encourages self-absorption? Are there any 50-something women who aren't so snowed under by the demands of jobs, family & aging parents that they don't have the energy for anything else? Is it inevitable that our personal worlds shrink as we age, as some writers claim?

Uncomfortable questions...but like pruning shears, they may be the tools I'll need to weed away dead foliage and make room for new growth, in a garden that makes it possible to get back home.