Mom hasn’t called, and this is a reflection on friendship
Unlearning everything Taylor Swift taught me in 2015.
To my friends, if you’re reading this...before you do: know this is, in part, a reflection of an unhealthy lifelong understanding of friendship I had, not an assessment of our friendship. ILY big time! Please know that.
I am not an authority on friendships in your 20s. That needs to be said.
My best friend and I raised voices at each other in a restaurant last month. I was ditched at a bar by another friend two week ago. I feel distance growing in one of my more significant friendships, and don’t know how to stop that; or if it’s possible to. Still, I opened it up to discuss this topic on Instagram a few weeks back, and I am a man of my word. Sometimes.
Friendship used to mean something entirely different as kids. We went to school. At school there might have been kids we got along with or liked. We shared interests with those kids, spent time with those kids. Those kids became our friends. And those friendships were based, in part, on a shared experience. There was a commonality, often a predetermined commonality, that allowed for natural bonding. As adults, the experience of finding, connecting, and growing friendships is different. What is “shared” between twenty-somethings is generally within our control. Our jobs, where we live, what we choose to do with our time are all decisions we’ve made, rather than being subject to chance, namely where our parent(s) chose to root.
I’ve settled in Brooklyn. I work in the creative agency industry. Have been slowly growing a following on social media. And appreciate fashion, pop culture, and the science of being an It Girl. Most of my friends live in Brooklyn, work within the creative agency industry and/or have social media followings. Some appreciate fashion, pop culture, and humor me with It Girl discussion.
One of those friends recently told me I use the word “friend” too liberally (hello, Tianna; you are and always will be more than just a “friend”). By my definition, we are friends if we’ve (at minimum) had an engaging conversation, currently follow each other on social media, and/or would be pleased to pass each other on the street; we don’t need to stop—a quick word exchange, smile, or wave will do. According to this definition, I, like so many twenty-somethings, have some thousand+ friends; many of whom I’ve yet to meet in person, some of whom I call by their social media handle, rather than their assigned name. Of these thousand+ friends, a select few are friends. People who have entered my apartment, tasted my cooking, seen me cry, held me while I cried, or talked me into buying a pair of boots.
I consider myself lucky to have both friends and friends, especially after losing my oldest friends—known since childhood, through church (hello Adhemar, Glen, Michael, Alimah, Briana; I know at least one of you reads these ❤️)—after coming out as gay a few years ago. I knew it’d be difficult to rebuild and find meaningful relationships in my 20s. Every time I’m surrounded by people who somehow love me, who’ve chosen me...I consider it a blessing. Still, sometimes I’m alone when I don’t want to be. I have people to call, but cannot bring myself to pick up the phone. My therapist has helped me understand why.
I asked him over a session two months back, why is it so easy for me to fill a room with a hundred people, but so hard for me to invite someone to share a seat across a dinner table?
He was, as he is generally, very unhelpful initially with answering that question. But in my recent reflection, prompted by staring at a blank Google doc for this piece for far too long, I realized I viewed so many of my friendships—even my closest ones—as an aesthetic or asset, rather than a relationship. That is not to say these friendships don’t matter to me. That is not to say I don’t love my friends. That is not to say I am anything but appreciative of the current joys of my life.
That is to say I am damaged, was damaged by a very difficult transitional period in my life; one that left me questioning if I was lovable. To prove to myself that I am (lovable), I accumulated as many “friends” as possible; to fill tables and rooms and roofs with smiling faces I’d post to Snapchat in 2016, then Instagram Stories in 2018, and now, TikTok in 2021; to signal to others, hopefully those that left me (the names above, among others), that I am someone to be loved, rather than abandoned. In focusing on this very specific kind of hunting and gathering, I realize I forgot to eat. There are people I know that I don’t really know, and should. Surface-level loves that could go much deeper if given adequate, or even minimal, attention.
That is a focus area for me in the coming months and years, I suppose, ahead. To invest more in my friends. To invite them to dinner more. Talk more. Ask better questions. I want to know your favorite flower. I want to know the biggest lie you told as an adult. I want to know where you want to be in ten years, and how I can help. As a late-twenty something, I do not have the time or energy to maintain a thousand friendships, especially as cultivating individual friendships becomes more important to me. So this is my written commitment to my people that I will do better, be a better friend.
And because I love a good list to close, here are some recent realizations I’ve had following some intense friendship reflection in preparation for this piece:
I don’t see 75% of my friends before 9pm. So many of my relationships exist exclusively within nightlife context. Dinners and bars and clubs and dimly lit apartments. I don’t know what some of my friends look like in the daytime.
I’m drawn to ambitious people. It might be a product of living in and making friends in New York, but most of mine have a side-something going on. Photography, screenplays, art, development, coffee shops; I love the more-than-just-dreams my friends are pursuing. It’s incredibly inspiring. My best friend and I have a running bet on who will win a Golden Globe first (it will be her).
Friend group does not equal individual friendship. Two friend groups in particular—both of which I love dearly and am eternally grateful for—came to mind as I reflected on this point. It would take several hands to count the number of times I’ve hung out with either friend group as a collective, but barely one to count the number of times I’ve hung out with some friends within the group 1:1. I’d like more 1:1 moments.
You’ve heard of the offline boyfriend. I want more offline friendships. When one of my friends introduced me as “Cashmere” (my social handle is @cashmeretote) at a bar, I had to wonder if they knew my actual name. Then I realized, I wasn’t sure I knew theirs. We’d called each other best friends on social media before we even exchanged numbers. If we don’t post our hang on social, there is not point in hanging at all. That is a realization that will haunt me for a good little bit.
My friends are gorgeous. Like, very fine. Very good looking; sheesh.
Taylor Alison Swift ruined me. Her gaggle of model, singer, and celebrity gal pals that starred in her Bad Blood music video in 2015 and occasionally accompanied her on red carpets, concert stages, and holiday parties helped shape my harmful understanding of friendship being an aesthetic. Every article, tweet, and appearance prompted me to seek a fabulous squad of my own. That was the work of my early 20s, and like Taylor, I realize that pursuit was rooted in deep, deep insecurity.
Thank for reading.
BIG X BIG O,
Coley Bradshaw
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