Friend Keeping

When I was about twelve years old, my father gave me a copy of How to Win Friends and Influence People by self-help expert Dale Carnegie.

I remember him saying I might find it interesting and offering no further information. He walked away, leaving me standing in the hallway with the book in my hands.

First published in 1936, How to Win Friends grew out of Carnegie’s course on public speaking, which grew popular during the Great Depression. In its lifetime, the book has sold more than 30 million copies with a new edition released in 1981 around the same time Dad gave it to me. That edition included sections like “Fundamental Techniques in Handling People, “Twelve Ways to Win People to Your Way of Thinking,” and “Be a Leader: How to Change People Without Giving Offense or Arousing Resentment.” (Still in print, the book spawned an international professional development school and other spin-offs.)

My father rarely engaged me, the youngest of five children in a rowdy household, in direct conversation, so I was touched and dutifully read it. I don’t remember any specifics, just lots of exclamatory optimism. When I’d finished it, I did not, in fact, feel equipped to make friends or influence people. Instead, I figured I must be some sort of loser if my father thought I needed a book on how to make friends.

In hindsight, I suspect Dad’s motive was the result of his own off-kilter social barometer. Later I learned that his business partners had pressured him to take a Carnegie course because of Dad’s communication difficulties at the office. He probably honestly thought I might find it interesting and couldn’t conceive of how a New Thought pep talk might land for me in the midst of middle school dramas. He never brought it up again, nor did I.

Thus, despite the efforts of Dad and Mr. Dale, nobody ever taught me how to make friends.

My oldest friend can confirm this. She’d tell you that when she first laid eyes on me, I was hanging by my dirty fingers on the chain-link fence dividing our yards with my two brothers, all of us shirtless and staring as her family unloaded their moving truck. Instead of introducing myself, I probably walked over and demanded her name. To my seven-year-old eyes, she looked adorable and fun, and both things remain true about her.

In high school, I met a new friend standing in line for my ID card. Remember when you could do that? Make friends in line? Random chance put me next to her—hilarious and smart, which she still is today.

In my twenties, a new friend won me over cracking jokes in the soprano section opposite my alto wing in our women’s choir. Before I even learned her name, and from across the room, she had me in stiches.

At my first “real” job in publishing I was given the kitchen table for my “desk,” (illustrative, perhaps, of my value at the company). Daily, one coworker would come in to put his lunch away and sing out a hearty good morning—after I’d explained I didn’t like to talk to people before 10 a.m. He recently reminded me of his stubborn refusal to observe my request, and how it made me laugh despite my crabby self.

More than twenty years ago, I joined an ultimate frisbee team—the first (and last) time I was on a team. I’d never experienced being completely taken in by a group, both on and off the field. Together we span more than two decades in age and knowledge. They are all marvelous people and so talented in different ways. They’re like a delicious variety pack where every flavor is the best one.

I discovered another dear friend more recently through casual introduction. I don’t know if it’s harder to make friends as we get older, or if it’s just me. Either way, I’m so grateful for her—witty, intelligent, and calming. Where have you been all my life, I wanted to ask after our first meeting. Two blocks away, apparently, or at least for the last twenty years.

These are just some of the friendships I’ve been thinking about lately. It must be midlife, I know

It’s not that I took them for granted before, but as the years pile up, so do the experiences, wonderful and terrible, that we’ve seen each other through: Love, heartache, marriage, divorce, re-marriage, professional disappointment and success, pregnancy, childbirth, dog love and loss, illnesses and recovery, menopause, children becoming adults, and the decline and death of parents and siblings. Holy hell! It’s a lot!

But with my friends, this well of experience feels like a brain trust, or maybe heart trust is a better term, that we can all dip into. Love, grief, joy, despair, anger, sorrow, acceptance, curiosity, hope, and calm. No matter what I’m feeling, a friend has been there before me, it seems. And when I’m the trailblazer, it’s a gift of a different kind to share what I’ve learned. We house each other’s sorrows and joys, successes and failures. Our arms around each other create an embrace that’s large enough to hold it all. Most days anyway.

Maybe nobody taught me how to make friends, but I hope I’m learning how to keep them: Listen, talk, listen more. Say I love you every chance I get. And, however I can, say thank you, thank you, thank you.