The shifting sands of friendship
by Cindy La Ferle

  Middle age can be incredibly liberating. We might stop basing our choices on the needs or desires of other people. We stop saying "yes" to every request. We're much more discriminating when we decide how to spend our time. And with whom.
    Looking back over the past several years, I realize that many of my social relationships were built on the shifting sands of proximity or shared experience. When I was much younger, for instance, I had several "best friends" in the neighborhood where I grew up.  I recently reconnected with one from high school, and we were both thrilled to find we're just as compatible today. But most of my girlhood friends have moved on and lost touch.
   Former coworkers who shared office space and lunch hours also come to mind. I've been fortunate enough to have enjoyed several years of office camaraderie -- and a few people with whom I've worked are still an active part of my social life now. (Two former editors still celebrate their holidays and birthdays with my family.) But most of my professional friendships faded when I changed jobs.
   I'm also thinking of my son's grade-school years, when I volunteered to work at countless school events and became friendly with a great group of mothers. Occasionally we'd meet for dinner (or just Chardonnay) without the husbands and kids. Or we'd host rowdy playground picnics with our little ones. And there were the moms in my son's Cub Scout troop -- the intrepid gals who braved rainy camping trips in the woods and bonded over S'mores around the campfire. More often than not, we didn't have much else in common aside from our kids. But we made some happy memories together.

Transitions and hurt feelings   With middle-aged perspective, I know that transitions in friendship tend to happen naturally, over time -- especially in a highly mobile culture like ours. We move to new cities; we get busy with our families; we change and grow. We stop exchanging holiday cards and remembering birthdays. And if we're lucky, hurt feelings aren't a factor.
   Sometimes, though, hurt feelings (and guilt) are unavoidable. Recently, for example, I found myself dragging my heels on my way to a lunch date with an old acquaintance who believes that we're closer than we really are. She's a very nice person, but our relationship has barely skimmed the surface of things. And while it worked on that level at one time, in a different place, it doesn't work here and now. I feel insincere spending time with this friend when my heart's not in it. I'm trying to summon the tact and courage I need to gracefully end the relationship.
   Over the years, I've learned it's never healthy to cling to any alliance that's emotionally draining or one-sided or otherwise uncomfortable. As Emerson said, friendship should offer "mutual aid and comfort" through life's passages. I think it should be fun, too.
   Now in my fifties, I'm painfully aware that there are only so many hours in a day, and only so much energy left for all the things I want to do. Last summer I watched my beloved uncle lose his horrific battle with pancreatic cancer after he'd just turned 65 and retired from his job.
   My husband and I were talking about this the other day -- how it's become more important to spend our time and energy with a few special people we cherish, including our aging parents, rather than spread it ever-so-thinly. There was a time, not so long ago, when we'd say "yes' to nearly every phone call -- every favor requested, every social invitation. Ultimately, we ended up short-changing everyone, including ourselves. But now we're much more careful with our time. It's another way of letting go.
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Cindy La Ferle writes on home, family, and women's issues from Royal Oak, where she is Writer-in-Residence for her public library. Writing Home, her award-winning collection of stories on motherhood and women's issues, is available on Amazon.com and is distributed nationally to bookstores by Wayne State University Press. Visit Cindy La Ferle's Home Office and Blog: www.laferle.com  You may also contact her directly at cindy@laferle.com