Casually Close

4 minute read

I have a very good friend to whom I haven’t spoken in several years. Nothing happened; there was no falling out. Just a drifting, spurred on by a change in both our life circumstances, a shift in commitments. I miss her.

I could pick up the phone to her right now. I know I could. She would answer with joy and interest in how I am, and yet… I don't call. And neither does she. I don’t take offence because I know how it is. We just don’t have time for our friendship right now. It’s where we are.

In truth, I’m holding the majority of my close, intimate friendships at arm’s length. Geographically speaking, I don’t live very near to many of my best and oldest friends and my sisters and I are equally dispersed. We are all up to our tonsils in life – working in demanding jobs or rearing young families. Many of us are doing both. And what little time we do have to spare is, honestly? Mainly put into staying afloat.

It’s something I feel keenly, because my friendships are some of my best assets.

On my first trip home to Cork mid-pandemic, I found myself apologising to friends and family for not being there more and for not being the type of friend I really want to be, which is the person who remembers everyone’s birthday and gives you a call to check in after you’ve had that important appointment. Friendships which were once conducted via multiple WhatsApp messages daily, and over at least weekly early bird meals, have been reduced to a twice-annual coffee or a glorious night away if the stars align. All of this makes for a lot of longing for that deep-seeded sustenance that only an intimate friendship can provide.

I miss the emotional support, the deep-belly laughs and the in-and-out knowing of my good friends – and yet time is the enemy of their nurturing.

The time-starved element is important here. I know that many of my friends and I will have more time to devote to each other once that online course is finished or the children are in secondary school or the house extension is finished… won’t we? Stretched as we are, we can but hope.

And so, currently located somewhere between needing human connection and having only a short supply of time and energy to go around, I’ve found myself putting all my proverbial chips into casual friendships. I need personal relationships that don’t drain me right now, that don’t ask too much of me or want more than I can give and, as it turns out, these casual friendships are fitting the bill.

I have some great neighbours and school-gate friends where the friendships are somewhat formal, but budding. Some other friendships, where I’ve joyously ‘clicked’ with someone, have deepened considerably – the beginning of something long-lasting, maybe? If that’s what I want it to be. I joined a tennis club last year so that I could get back to a hobby that I love but also to have the opportunity to engage with more people. I don’t have time to meet up for coffee after we play (I’m running for a playschool collection) and I don’t want to come to yours for dinner (I’ve got other friends for that), but I do want to interact, no strings attached. People can be so open. As my sister Linda would say, she loves people who are interesting, but also who are interested. We often find something in common, something to talk about. And these conversations can be so surprising and so, simply, pleasant.

All of these casual friendships are, as it turns out, what sustain me in a community where I have no roots or family or old friends of my own.

They provide me with bite-sized opportunities to connect, and keep me laughing and vibrant and, many times, sane. There is no pressure, no expectation. But there is empathy, when it’s needed; advice, when it’s asked for. There is camaraderie and humanity.

That friend of mine – the friend I’ve lost touch with who I could call for help or advice at any time – could always be relied upon for a good analogy. One of my favourites was her way of likening friendship to a train journey. Friends get on your train and friends alight. Sometimes they sit right next to you, other times they sit a carriage or two away. They may even hop off your train hoping to connect with it again in the future. That’s just how life goes.

As my train hurtles onwards, yes, I’m looking forward to joining my bestie in the dining car for a sneaky beer and a chicken stuffing sandwich. But I’ll make sure I enjoy all of the interactions I’m having in between, on those ordinary days, when most of the words I exchange are pleasantries with strangers.

Those chats will keep me going – and who knows where our shared journey may bring us?