The ghosts of Facebook

Facebook is getting weird.

Well, it always was weird. But you become accustomed to it, and then it becomes normal.

But then it gets weird again.

You start off by being friends with your actual friends. Then acquaintances find you, then people from work. Then old classmates, maybe from college, maybe from high school. Even the ones you haven't seen or heard from in 18 years, even ones who you weren't friends with when you were in school together. But that's OK because, if nothing else, that's where Facebook started: among students. And then you get bold and start sending friend requests to old classmates that you became really estranged from during school because that's what happens as we mature and splinter off into our own separate, sometimes rival, cliques. All of that can be forgiven, because we were just kids.

That's how my Facebook friending experience has gone, anyway, though I know it's not been the same for everyone.

But we can all agree: "normal" now includes using "friend" as a verb.

But set aside all that newly normal stuff ... want to know what still feels weird?

Weird is when your Facebook friends start friending guys you hooked up with when you were 15 years old.

Ghosts from your past.

Names you recognize because ... why? Oh ... yeah. My parents' sofa. And my parents were upstairs. Well, that was a fun evening.

Oh dear, are my parents reading this? Well, whatever; they no longer live in that house anyway.

And now you're left wondering: is it a matter of time before one of those guys sends me a friend request? Or will I friend them first? Or will we just go on, pretending we haven't noticed each others' names in our friends' lists of friends?

And you know you're overthinking things, because you checked every bit of your he-loved-me-then-kicked-me-to-the-curb feelings at the door decades ago. Besides, you're hotter and much more interesting now than you were then. You have nothing to worry about.

And then you're struck by the realization that it's all perfectly normal. Because remember the very first guy who invited you to join Facebook? You hooked up with him, too.

The intimacy of friendship

Not too long ago a friend sent me a note that said, among other things, "You bring out the best in me."

I had to read it again to make sure there was nothing I missed. That there were no words or context that I didn't notice the first time. But I found nothing new, and I sat and stared. It bothered me.

It didn't bother me in a negative way. It was a positive feeling, but not one that could be characterized as joy, either. I felt confusion. Because if our friendship is founded on anything, it is founded on the premise that he brings out the best in me.

We met a few years ago as a matter of happenstance, as people do. And as our friendship gradually grew, he (unwittingly) led me to see in myself the person I wanted to be, a person I think I used to be. It was as if his presence expressed genes in my DNA that had gone dormant long ago. That was the way it went: he improved me. I didn't think it made sense the other way; it didn't apply. He is this person who, as-is, motivated me to improve. How could I have done, or be doing, anything for him, when he was already "that way" -- the way he is now -- when we met?

Regardless of the fact that I was making far too big a deal over a single sentence that my friend wrote, this was something I needed to figure out. Because the way I saw it, one of two things was going on: either he feels the same deep, sincere gratitude for our friendship that I do (something I never really considered), or he is lying. And I wasn't sure I was comfortable with either option.

The truth is that I lack intimacy in most of my personal relationships. Even with this one, though it has the potential to be a real, honest friendship where everything is on the table and there is no fear or regret, we live too far apart to cultivate it that way. There is no meeting for coffee a couple times a week to share our thoughts and bitch about our colleagues or our families. (Not that either of us would bitch about our families.) No dinner parties where we get too drunk on wine and build the kinds of memories that we'll all joke about forever. With work, families, disparate locations: we've always had too many obstacles to get as close as I think many friendships are. But then, I'm not sure how much I know about that, because I have precious few close friendships. Even if we could take our obstacles away, could I get that close? And back to the topic at hand: even though I feel as though we should be that close, or kind of are, as much as we can be from afar, is it possible that he feels the same way about such a, let's face it, superficial relationship?

Learning how to build and maintain intimacy in my personal relationships is something I need to start figuring out. Because if I can't even believe that a friend has the same genuine feelings for me that I have for him, well, I have a lot of work to do. I need to start redirecting my time to some back-to-the-basics lessons in friendships. What are some of the things you do to keep your friendships genuine? Or is it as effortless for everyone else as I presumed it would always be for me? You know, like when we were kids, showing up at each others' houses unannounced, running down the block through the neighbors' sprinklers, eating gooey candy and getting dirty without apology or a care in the world? What is the equivalent of that as an adult? I think this may be what they call "unconditional love," but it gets tricker to maintain in adulthood. I certainly haven't done a good job proving to myself that it's possible.

Meanwhile I hope my friend knows how much I value him, and that he's usually on my mind. Especially when I'm feeling like I'm not at my best, because that's when I think about him for inspiration. Especially now that I know that he thinks about me in a similar way, because I'd hate to let him down.