ANEW: Friendships, A Meditation
Like many cups of tea
When people show up in your life seemingly out of nowhere, do you have expectations of them? When they are fresh and new, as you begin to build a relationship with them, are there things you want from them? Do you want them to be a good listener, or are you the one who primarily does the listening? What constitutes a new friend, and how do you know when you have gained one?
These questions have been circling in my mind as I embark on this new chapter of life. Sadly, I’ve shed some old relationships; such losses are part of life’s ebb and flow. Yet, in the shadow of endings, new friendships emerge like the first stars of the evening. The question I find myself pondering is: how do we know when we’ve truly gained a friend? Do they arrive when expectations creep in? Are there implicit or explicit promises exchanged? And what of these questions in reverse when friendships falter or dissolve?
Many of our early friendships are forged in school. The conditions are ripe for connection, often managed through groupings or pairings, and even earlier through playdates orchestrated by parents. My father, one of thirteen siblings, contrasted sharply with my mother, an only child. My brother and I spent time with my father’s side of the family, but my parents separated when I was eighteen months old. My brother, four years older, recalls those familial bonds more vividly than I do. These early connections—or the lack thereof—shape how we attach and detach, value, and navigate relationships. My brother and I, raised in the exact same environment, approach friendships differently, reflecting the unique imprints of our shared yet distinct experiences.
In adulthood, some people establish firm boundaries about whether they value friendships at work or within established communities. Forming friendships in these spaces requires a willingness to show up for one another, a reciprocity that deepens connection.
As a mostly extroverted person, I miss the ready-made community of thirty-four years in schools. Couple this with a rift in my primary relationship, physical distance from family in California, and other fractures in once-affirming relationships, and I find myself spending more time alone. It’s a choice I’ve made, but it doesn’t always feel easy.
Lately, I’ve been meditating on the fragility of relationships. I consider what this next phase of life might hold, imagining more moments of solitude. Friendships aren’t easily equated with objects like the warm mug of tea I’ve begun to enjoy each morning—a new habit. The tea’s function is clear: to warm my hands, throat, and belly. Perhaps I like the taste, or maybe it’s the ritual of preparation. Whatever comfort the tea provides, it becomes part of my routine, a habituated experience. Can friendships be likened to this? Perhaps. It circles back to expectations.
Do we expect friends to provide comfort and consistency, like tea? We relish their company on rare occasions or most days, expecting them to show up in familiar, reliable ways. If they challenge our assumptions or fail to meet these expectations, it can unsettle us.
Returning to my tea analogy, imagine brewing a cup that turns out unexpectedly bitter. You might hesitate the next time or approach it differently. Similarly, we expect friendships to maintain a certain consistency. If they don’t—if they continually disappoint or hurt—we question their place in our lives. Why, as Ted Lasso might put it, would you keep drinking bitter tea?
Early friendships offer another lens. My brother can trace many of his friendships back to first grade, while my own early connections feel more tenuous. Looking through old family photos, there are countless pictures of him as a baby and toddler but far fewer of me. The shift from a stay-at-home mother to a single working mom likely influenced this dynamic, sowing subtle fissures in our familial relationships that ripple outward.
All of this is to say our lives are profoundly shaped by early experiences. Some refer to these as ACEs (adverse childhood experiences) or trauma. Most of us carry them, but like the Stoics, we must take responsibility for how we respond. By giving meaning to our experiences and exercising agency, we shape our lives and become fuller versions of ourselves. Without this ownership, we risk stagnation, becoming poorer reflections of who we are meant to be.
May it always be so.
Curated listening:
When I worked on my first professional play as a stagehand as a sophomore in college, the opening and closing music of one of the plays was Bette Midler’s “Friends.” Listen to it HERE. “‘Cause I got to get me some of them.”