So I’ve been thinking lately about friends and friendship.
You see, I don’t make friends very well. I really don’t. I seem to have this inclination to be extremely contemptuous of a lot of things and people. I’m not really sure why or where it came from, but as I’ve grown older I feel I have less time for other people’s shit.
As you could probably figure out, it makes making friends just that much harder. As in harder than it already is for me.
It also seems more difficult to make friends as an adult. I think that desire to meet new people and make new friends is why I have been getting into the ultimate realm here in Edmonton.
You see, the way I look at it, I made my best friends through school. I say that because at school (both Mary Ward and Carleton) I was forced to intermingle with others. I had to interact, and developed friendships. Now, some of my friendships did start as friendships of convenience, so it wasn’t as spontaneous as it would appear.
Still. Having to be with people and work with people, sometimes rather closely and for long hours, did make it easier to become friends with them.
So with that all in mind, I am deeply appreciative of the friends I have.
They have stuck with me over the years, especially since I’ve moved halfway across the country.
I only get to see them once a year, if that, so there’s considerably less (physical and visual) contact than if I still lived in the GTA, or even southern Ontario.
Sure, I do tend to text them fairly regularly. Some more than others. But it’s not really the same as talking on the phone, skyping, or seeing them in person.
So the fact they make time to keep in touch (again, some more than others) is very special for me, and I greatly appreciate the time they take.
Another angle on this plays into one of my New Year’s Resolutions — to write more letters. Yes, writing letters is not as personal as phone/skype/in person. But compared to texting, it’s great. You’re sending a message and telling a story with your own hand. It’s the most personal form of conversation there is that doesn’t include using your voice.
The recipient sees your hand writing. It’s very physical because you took the effort to find paper and a writing stick, find a solid surface to write on, bought a stamp, licked an envelope and found a mailbox (which here in Edmonton is not as easy as you would think it should be).
Then there’s the anticipation of opening your mailbox and finding an envelope. What’s in it? What does it say? You can’t wait to open it.
Hmm. This has shifted from a treatise on my friends to a discourse on letter mail. Oh well.