EPISTOLARY PURGATORY

I don’t quite know how to make or keep friends. I’m incredibly clumsy at it, and my general lack of competence or finesse occasionally results in me coming off as rude or uninterested in forming connections.

As a kid, I operated as a loner leading a somewhat solipsistic life, and embodying my idiosyncrasies as I showed up day after day to school and day care. I wasn’t shy but I also had no idea how to address the need to interact with people. Kids in school would find my drawings intriguing, or would want to talk about a book I was reading. Most of my friendships thus arose from the minding of my own business in high-density spaces such as the classroom, where some people found me amusing, and “subscribed” to me.

When I moved to New York 8 years ago, I thought this strategy from my childhood would continue to serve me; be weird, do your thing in a high-density space, and perhaps the people that get it will find you. Maybe they’ll stick around.

It did not.

Life as an adult works very differently — everybody lives apart and you run into fewer and fewer people on a regular basis. People fall into the routines and scripts of a nuclear family; they find a partner, get a pet or have children; and then they drop out of your life. Social homeostasis becomes this sisyphean task of continuously replacing old friends with new ones. Just like taking care of your health or sanity, the older you get, the more time, energy and effort this demands.

Making friends as an adult is particularly hard for me also because I have never really made friends before. The idea of investing effort in relationships was (and in many ways still is) a wholly new concept to me. I have very little clue on how to operate in communities and have predominantly been an outsider all my life, oblivious to the social protocols. How do you express your interest in a person or group? What does it mean to “initiate” a connection? All new to me.

I grew up religious but with none of the social perks of organized religion. Most of it was centered around rituals performed in near-isolation from anyone besides family, and as hyper-specific responses to holidays, events or problems.

When I grew out of religion, it was more due to the logistical nightmares it posed rather than any sort of disillusionment about the community. There was no such thing as community as far as I was concerned at the time. I didn’t really see my parents form or maintain friendships as part of their lives. A by-product of it is that I grew up not knowing where or how to make friends.

I continue to struggle with all of this. I find most meetups and communities a bit forced, a bit alien. The inevitable drama arising from them rarely seems like a worthy price to pay. Even the most earnest HR events at companies feel fake to me. It amazes and terrifies me to see people that thrive in a community. The few friends I make through these things are invariably other people on the fringes of it.

What has worked for me as an adult? There is something to be said about repetition and consistency: showing up to work day after day has resulted in some coworkers turning into friends, and so has performing regularly. People find comfort in familiarity and sometimes I stumble into that sweet spot by accident. That said, none of these friendships are profound in a way that could bridge the chasms of individualism and romantic relationship pods. At the end of a good workday or a show, I still ride back home alone.

Maybe I too should find a partner, recede into the nuclear family pod, and thus perpetuate a cycle that predates me. Dating, however, is only a more twisted and unforgiving version of trying to make a friend; there’s the added hassle of keeping up with capricious and myopic social norms, and the misguided expectations from people you’re trying to win the affection of.

In most relationships I don’t know what I have to offer, and how I can offer it. Are there any real perks of being with me? The only thing I really know to do well is to coexist, occasionally help, avoid stepping on toes to the extent possible, and hope that my life is of interest or use to people in some way. Not the best pitch.

It doesn’t help that I’m terrible at making first impressions; most people that seem to enjoy my company are ones that have seen me around several times and gleaned something that they respect or value.

Maybe I should focus on the things that I can do well, and try to make peace with the fact that I do not have the facilities to be anything but alone. Most of my hobbies require substantial amounts of solitary time anyway. I know viscerally that being alone without interfacing with people would actively deteriorate my ability to carry on doing all the things I enjoy in the first place. But do I really have a choice in this matter? If mankind is designed to thrive in tribes, maybe I’m an unintended evolutionary cul-de-sac?

Loneliness is like a leaky canister of radioactive fuel; the longer you’re left with it, the more it degrades you — and nobody wants to be with someone that’s degrading. So it’s a self-fulfilling prophecy. At a time when old habits fail me and new ones show no promise of saving, I wonder what I should do with myself.