I recently realized that I have over 800 friends on Facebook. In case you are wondering, yes, I do know all those people (or at least knew who they were when I accepted their friend request). And, yes, I do think I've become stretched too thin.
I suspect some of you can relate.
There's a statistic going around that people can only mentally juggle a real-world social network of about 120 people. Not sure how true it is, but it feels about right. There is also a bunch of talk about social media undermining the development and maintenance of real-world friendships. Some of my friends have deleted their accounts and claim to be leading much happier and healthier lives because of it. Of course, since we don't live in the same hemisphere, I can only take their word for it; we don't communicate frequently anymore. ...But is that such a bad thing? My mother has lived far away from her childhood best friend since before I was born. They've never called or written each other often, but they did used to send their kids Christmas presents, and each time they do meet-up they stay up late giggling like no time has passed. (and, yes, their friendship survives despite one of them still not using social media)
Back in my teens, a workshop speaker spouted out some friendship statistics. It was something like by the time we reach full adulthood we'd still be in touch with a couple high school friends and a few college friends--if even that. I grimly accepted this, having noticed that when I attended retreats where small groups tearfully promised to remain BFFs, the physical distance and hassle of letter writing quickly drifted us apart. Around the same age, I saw a My Three Sons episode called "A Perfect Memory." In it, the widower father's high school sweetheart comes back to town and attempts a visit, but she finds him not at home. Before he reaches her, however, she makes a decision that confused me at the time; she's leaves, having decided instead to preserve the perfect memory from their youth.
Friends from AU undergrad at the wedding
Many of the wonderful folks I've met over the years I haven't seen since our last perfect encounter. Thanks to Facebook, though, I now can, in theory, not only stay in touch with all of them but know where they vacation, how their children are doing, and even what they made for dinner.
For awhile, I thought of my friends list as my online congregation and treated my newsfeed as the joys and concerns announcements. As my husband pointed out, "just checking Facebook" could take me hours. I realized not even pastors of brick and mortar congregations are expected to know this much about their congregants. For that matter, to my knowledge in no point of history were even best friends expected to know so much about each other's daily activities.
All these thoughts are pointing me to one conclusion: I think I'll try not trying so hard and see what happens. Perhaps more interactions with friends I can invite over for game night?
Also--- Do you think the lyrics of the song Remember me this Way (yes, my choir sang it at high school graduation) make sense in the digital age? Can a strong case still be make for saying goodbye to those still living?
Earlier this month, blogger Seth Adam Smith wrote a post about how marriage wasn't for him, and it went crazy viral. Many people loved Smith's father's advice: "You don’t marry to make yourself happy, you marry to make someone else happy." Others, however, hated it and pointed out that, among other things, such a belief is toxic when told to someone in an abusive relationship. As is so often the case, what is a curative for some is poison for another. I was thinking about this when debating discussing with my husband this weekend how to celebrate our daughter's 2nd birthday, which is just a few days away. My husband and I are deeply ambivalent about hosting parties. We didn't have a party for her last year, but considering how many she has now attended, it seems as if social reciprocity requires it--that a birthday party for a toddler isn't really for the child (who won't understand what is happening or remember it anyway); it is for the community.
I used to love having parties. That is, I used to love it when friends came over and we had some laughs and there was minimal prep and clean-up work on my part. These parties weren't simply fun; they were reassurance that doggonit, people liked me. The only catch was that I wasn't allowed to consciously exclude anyone. If I invited girls from school, we invited all the girls in my class. If I invited friends from church, the youth group came. We took our Methodist rhetoric about the open table seriously; all are welcome.
This theology was hardwired into my operating system, and it confused and grieved me when I realized that others didn't share it. Mom would try to soothe my pain by making excuses for classmates who bragged about their parties that didn't include me: "Don't take it personally; it was probably just that their parents only invited families that they knew; maybe they all belong to the same club or something." I did take it as rejection, though, and it increased my desire to avoid inflicting on others the same feeling.
The 'ya'll come' approach worked well for me into my mid-20s. College parties were spontaneous and required little work. (When your furniture includes cardboard boxes draped with scarves and the meal consists of splitting a Papa John's pizza order, there is no pressure to keep up appearances)
That all changed the year Stuart bought a house, and we began hosting 'grown-up' parties--inviting his State Department colleagues and such. Suddenly, 'ya'll come' meant rooms so crowded with acquaintances that many guests never sat down, several hours of cleaning and cooking, and considerable thought and expense put into what to serve and how to serve it (since apparently it is gauche host a grown-up party and ask folks to pitch-in). By the end of the party, I'd be wiped out from my catering and small-talk duties and near tears at the sight of the mess in the kitchen. Parties weren't fun for me anymore; they were hard work. While we still fantasized about our party ideas (rooftop dances, antique sheet music sing-along, caroling, brunch & croquet, etc), we'd sometimes go a year between having one.
Now I'm sure some of you are thinking that the obvious solution for introverts like me is to eschew such parties and invite over a few close friends instead. Yes, that can work sometimes, but I think that assumes that a party is for the happiness of the one hosting it, which I'm not sure is true. The big Denyer Christmas party, for example, has a been an opportunity to show all our friends in town that we care about them--to make sure they get to carol around a piano at least once that season, have festive foods 'neath holiday decorations, and renew and expand friendships. Yes, it's a lot of work for us, but when we consider trimming the invite list, the guilt of crossing out anyone's name is too great.
The added complication, of course, is that I am now married to a foreign service officer and switch countries every couple years. Have I told you about that terrifying book they provide to spouses that has several pages on party protocol in the foreign service (including seating rules so complex that they suggest investing in round tables)? Yes, I know I'm overreacting; most of those rules are generally ignored, but there definitely is a rather high bar in this world I now live in when it comes to what/how one serves guests--including the small gatherings--such that it is often hard to tell when you are at an actual party or a work function. After all, the guest list is going to be about the same regardless.
This brings hubby and me back full circle in our debate discussion. If parties are for the strengthening of the community, we should have them more frequently and invite all of our American embassy colleagues* to anything that's larger than having just a few friends over. Yes, this can mean quite a large crowd with many children running about. This is partly why those in our community who believe that parties are for their happiness have trimmed their lists. We often don't make their cut (because we haven't invited them to anything this year?), and I confess I get a momentary flashback to teenage insecurities each time I see pictures on my newsfeed of what we missed. I don't want to do that to others. But, then again, considering how rarely I host anything these days, perhaps others assume that I already did!
What do you think? Should parties be for your happiness, and, if so, when?
*and this isn't even addressing the Pandora's box about how very few of the locally employed embassy staff (i.e. non-Americans) ever get invited to after-hours social events hosted by Americans.
When I was a kid I had a diary. Reading it, you might think
I had a miserable childhood. The truth is just that I only wrote when I was
sad or mad; I was too busy enjoying life the rest of the time.
I got to thinking about this when my mentor reminded me to balance the tone of my social media presence. If I primarily blog my criticisms
of the efforts of well-meaning people and repost social commentaries, a lot of the folks I'm trying to influence might dismiss me as a grump.
That’s not who I am—at least, not all the time. Idealistic, stubborn passionate, and opinionated pensive, yes, I’ll agree
to those labels. And yes, that can result in such profound frustration that
sometimes I feel flames on the side of my face (Mom jokes that I popped out of her womb screaming with righteous indignation).
Frequently, though, it also manifests as playfulness, hospitality, and moments
of serenity. Married life has put a damper on my flirtatiousness and I’m less
likely to let loose at a party now that I’m a pastor and Foreign Service
spouse, but I still can be a load of laughs in the right setting. I’m not half
bad as a shoulder to cry on, either.
For reasons I don’t fully understand (Pro bono offers of psychoanalysis and behavioral modification therapy welcomed), it has been
noted that I am socially awkward in some settings yet charismatic in others. This
doesn’t seem to have any correlation with how interested I am in befriending
the people in these settings. For example, a few years back I was excited to
meet a colleague of my husband who, based on descriptions, sounded like she could
be my next best friend. Despite my efforts, though, our conversations reeked of forced politeness; I concluded she wasn’t fond of me and stopped
trying. About a
year later, my husband decided to put an end to my “Why doesn’t she like me?”s and
asked her directly if I had made a faux pas or somehow offended her. He returned home with this shocker: She had been wondering why I disliked her!
I’d write this off as an isolated
tragic-comedy, but anecdotal evidence suggests a pattern. I suspect there are others who have incorrectly assumed I disliked them just as I have discovered I have been wrong in such assumptions (and have obsessed about all the ways I can be off-putting). Hence, this
self-disclosing post. (Links to studies or articles about this phenomenon are welcome; I've never found one, but I hope they exist). If I ever crack the code to what's really going on, I'll let you know.
In the meantime, I'll wrap up with this:
If we've met and you suspected I disliked you, chances are it was the setting putting me out of my comfort zone--or me struggling
to find a conversation topic that seemed to interest you--or me wanting to share with you about one of my passions--or me thinking that
you weren't fond of me. It could even have been me trying too hard to fill the
uncomfortable silences with chatter. And while yes, occasionally there are people I find offensive or hard to respect, the chances that you (someone who reads this blog) are one of them are rather slim.
So, if we happen to find ourselves in the same town, perhaps you would like to share a meal or a hot beverage?
I made a new friend on Facebook this afternoon. I know, I know, big whoop. Well, actually, it is to me. I'll tell you why, but I'll need to pull a 'Taylor' and give you a long backstory.
A few years back I read a news article that had gone viral about why it is challenging to form best-buds friendships once we enter the post-college adult world. I was thinking about it this morning and wanted to reread it, so I googled and realized that there are A LOT of published articles on that topic. Observers of human behavior (both licensed and armchair) seem to mostly say the variations on the same thing on the topic: that time, shared interests and shared intense experiences are key ingredients to the forming of close friendships. The older we get, the less likely we are to put ourselves out there for new experiences and thus our social circles shrink in size. Cotton-candy self-help articles advise the lonely to join a club or invite a new friend to do something adventuresome. I find such articles as grating and unhelpful as the ones that offer advise on how to get my child to sleep through the night.
It's not that I don't know how to make a friend. It's that, as a nomad, sometimes I get friendmaking fatigue. Always surrounded by folks you haven't known for very long and in the near future will leave and possibly never see again, the work of starting all over again can be exhausting for introverts like me. I'm not the first global nomad to lament about this in a blog; in fact, it has become a bit cliche to do so. Our friendmaking problems are compounded due the frequency of relocation, cultural/language barriers, and that pesky voice in the back of one's head that wonders about the political/economic motivations behind every social invite we receive (Do they like me or the doors they think I could open for them?).
When you carry a diplomatic passport, these issues can be amplified. A party is never just a party; on some level, it is always a working event. If the social function is attended just by folks from the embassy, well then you've got the 'people who can influence my spouse's career mobility are in the room' tension. If the social function involves non-Americans, then whether officially or not, you are doing the work of promoting positive diplomatic relations. One could attempt making friends at church and trying to keep one's diplomatic status on the down-low for as long as possible, but if you are intending to play the role of a clergy person in that church then there is a whole other box of worms.
I don't mean to complain (well, maybe just a little); overall I'm living a pretty darn cool life. There are those days, though, (especially when hubby is working late) when I yearn to be able to call up an old friend and invite them over to hang out. No anxiety about what I'm wearing or the state of the kitchen. No pondering what to serve and what dishes to serve them with and what safe topics to discuss so as to not commit a faux pas that will send shock waves into the community (and possibly get my husband called up to the ambassador's office). Sitting on the living room floor wearing no cosmetics eating a no-fuss meal we whipped up together (or pizza we ordered) and laughing about stupid stuff. Maybe even crying about stupid stuff. Maybe watching a horribly bad movie or playing a ridiculously immature game. No shame, No fear of judgement, No choosing one's words carefully for fear of being misunderstood.
So today I was feeling a bit blue, and I turned to Facebook to see if there was any news from my dear old pals. A FB friend had posted a lament about a painful decision some of his friends had recently made. It touched a nerve with me, so I shared about how I had been impacted by a similar issue. A woman I didn't know responded that my comment resonated with her because of a similar situation she found herself in. Soon after she and I were having a private FB chat and became friends. We seem to have a number of things in common. She lives not that far away from me, relatively speaking, although it is entirely probable that our friendship will remain in the realm of appreciating each other's interesting status updates and article links.
The point is, I made a friend today. An actual connection with someone who appears to be a kindred spirit. And you never know, maybe we'll coordinate vacations and plan a meet-up in Abu Dhabi some weekend. In my neverending world of awkward friend-dating, it doesn't hurt to dream.
