It’s 10 am and we’re thundering up the mountain switchbacks in a heavy downpour; a convoy of two vehicles, three girls, three dogs.
Funny this; the art of casual female friendships.
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I’ve always been an all or nothing person. I love you or I hate you, I trust you or I’ll avoid you forever. If we stop talking, there’s little chance of us talking again.
I’m not a mean person. I’m just careful with my affection.
Most of my friendships – female friendships – have ended, most of them abruptly, although not all of them in ways that were hard. Some were well-timed drifts in different directions, those are normal. Expected. However, others were her with him after we broke up, or me making the right choice for me and the wrong choice for someone else.
I can’t remember the last time I had a simple friendship; one that wasn’t too intense, or based around social expectations, or formed out of necessity and then dissolved just as quickly.
It’s difficult and weird — I never know if I’m not a good enough friend, or if I’m just a bad person, but it’s the strange reality of my life. I have one, maybe two really good friends. I have my partner. And everyone else I’ve always kept at arm’s length.
Regardless of the reason, the friendships I keep are intense ones. Ones I think will stick. I had never been good with ‘acquaintances’, I never stayed in touch the classmates, I won’t text you just to catch up.
Maybe it’s rude, maybe it’s bitchy or standoffish or introverted and full of anxiety. All I can tell you is that I’m over it.
***
I’ve always wanted to go snowshoeing
I don’t remember why I said it, but in an instant, the girl at the desk across from me pipes up:
We should go some time.
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We’re both in our early twenties in an office getting paid both too little for the amount we put up with and too much for how little we can do in the company, with nothing in common but where we spend our 35 hours a week, but she’s nice, knows her way around the coast, and I’m not going to lie, after a year of isolation and moving to a new town, even my introverted-ass is in desperate need for a friend.
Tentative plans, setting dates, renting equipment, then one Saturday we head for the mountains. It’s pouring rain, the first of January on the coast; a time for new beginnings and wet winters.
Her friend joins us, and we three begin. Quiet at first, just barking and rain and panting breaths in water-logged snow, and then the beginning of stories and mild introductions and surface talk that hints at deeper meanings, mild disses at ex-boyfriends, letting bits of hidden information drift out slowly.
It’s not much, it’s not instant connections, but it’s nice. Slow. Easy. The silence is never awkward, just there.
This, I’ve discovered, is the perfect equation for casual female friendships.
Snowshoe Coworker™️, as we’ll call her (both creatively and affectionately) is not the only friend I’ve made since moving away from the safety of my university town — where you don’t have to have acquaintances; people just exist in the same realm as you and it works well enough for everyone.
I met a girl my age in the office who left a few weeks later for another job more related to her field, and we get coffee and go on hikes on one or two weekends a month – I love talking to her, she’s an awesome good sport, and I’m so stoked to be her friend. And I’m very okay with the fact that I’m not her best friend. I don’t have that weird feeling of inadequacy that I normally do; where if I’m not super close with someone immediately, I think they hate me or don’t want to spend time with me.
The art of casual friendships
Admittedly, I feel like a tool writing this because for many people, this is as simple as breathing, and for many others, they only have to take a quick glance at my writing to guess, correctly, that I’m both socially awkward and fairly judgmental, neither of which do well in relationships that don’t have that intense, I’ll always be your friend, type of feeling. Most people don’t admire the art that is normal, regular relationships with friends and coworkers. But g-damnit, it is an art.
It’s an odd social place to be, but sociologist Mark Granovetter calls these types of friendships “weak ties” — and of course, I turn to sociologists in my time of need — and they’re actually a really good thing to have.
Research shows that casual friends are immensely positive for your mental health, and make you less lonely — obviously (essentially, it’s not healthy to only have super intense and close relationships, and be terrible at most other interactions. Who knew?)
Weird as it is, I haven’t had something like this in a long time. And I know it’s making me a better person.
The other day I reached out to a friend’s girlfriend that I hadn’t spoken to in months just to see how she was doing. Another friend messaged me out of the blue as if I was suddenly putting off a more open vibe into the universe — I’m not always woo-y and spiritual, but my ex-hippie ass worked in a crystal store for three years and sometimes it really does just feel like the world is coming together, and things are starting to change.
I used to pride myself in being an all or nothing kind of friend — I thought it made me cooler, maybe more mysterious, in a sad way — as if there was pride in being anxious around other women.
It’s not as if now I suddenly flooded with friendship; I’m still introverted, still private, still want to spend most of my time writing, or outside, or with my partner. But at least now I’m open to the idea. I liked the idea. I’m opening myself up to more, accepting more, doing better.
Casual friendships and work friends are crazy beneficial for your mental health. I’m tired of thinking I’m above small talk — I’m not good at it, but it’s interesting. I’m tired of feeling like I have to be instant best friends with people I can across, and then anxious and upset when it doesn’t work. I’m tired of having a brain that doesn’t understand that “weak ties” are a good thing — not every relationship in life has to be tied in a knot forever.
***
“It feels like we’re in the middle of some grand voyage, some big escape,” I said as we continued to climb up the fire road. Each step dragged up heavy snow from the ground and let it settle in the back of my boots, where my socks were a damp cold, squishing with each step. A joke was made about the Shawshank Redemption, hands spread out, accepting the pouring rain on already soaked faces.
We were completely soaked, shivering, the cold rain slapping our faces. To our left, avalanches cracked down the mountain on the other side of the valley, snow loosened by the warming weather. It was terrifying and awe-inspiring; the vastness of nature, and the freedom of being surrounded by it.
Snowshoe Coworker™️ apologized for bringing me out in the rain — neither of us has expected the sudden wet weather — and even with my cold feet and red hands, I admitted that I loved every minute of it.
For a moment, we talked about the experience of suffering with others, the semi-joy it brings you, the instant camaraderie. When we got back to the car, we sat with our raw hands up against the air vents, blasting hot air at our stiff fingers. The radio crackled in out as service blew around with the wind, and the dogs lay sleepy in the back.
I guess it’s one way to make friends.
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This post was previously published on Medium.
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Photo credit: Taylor Brandon on Unsplash