Making Friends

AOG, Madrid

It was easy (ish) as a kid, a teen, even in your early 20s…but now?

 

I remember one of the first things I ever learned about myself, and it came straight out of my mother’s mouth.

“If he doesn’t have any friends, he is not going to do well in school.”

Was she right?

Well, ever since she told me this around the time I was seven, I have been fighting with her insight.

Does having friends ensure that you do well in school?

How about work?

Does having friends at work help or hinder your experience? And your output?

Of course, as a child, most- if not all- of your friends were the people you went to school with. A child has a very limited exposure to many social situations and is completely dependent upon parents to socialize to a large extent.

As you grow older, the bulk of your friends is still school-dependent, but, depending on your social interests (among other factors) you find that you have made a few friends outside of school. Maybe you joined a club, or you made a good friend during the summer.

Things like that.

Then comes University, or College, and, again, your social experience is still the main provider of friendships.

And then, one day, in your early, mid or late 20s, when you find yourself at your first jobs, your friends from youth are mostly gone and in their place are other people. People that, if you are “lucky”, have things in common with you.

Or, if you are “lucky”, have nothing in common with you, but you still enjoy each other’s company.

But then you get older. And your life changes. And you change.

But, if you are “lucky”, you still need people you like around you.

You need friends.

But those social networks which provided you with them, and enemies too -lest we forget- are no longer there.

With age you realize that making friends is now a bit more difficult. You realize that you can’t talk to people much younger than yourself because, well, because they all talk crap at that age. Just like you did. Or didn’t.

Now to that mix, add a spoonfull of ‘relocating to another country’ and half a liter of ‘doing it again in your late 30s’ plus a pinch of ‘and your partner lives in another city’.

Now…would you like fries with that?

Yes, moving to another country is as exciting as it is daunting. I now live in Spain. People here are very friendly, but in Spain, as anywhere else on this planet, most people have lived where they live most of their life. Their friends from most of their life are still here, and they are probably well-stocked in that area.

And here comes you, trying to enter that hallowed circle of friendship.

How does one do that? How do you penetrate someone’s circle of friends successfully.

Well, never mind that, my basic question is: how do you make friends later in life?

I have no idea.

If there’s a formula, I never chanced upon it.

I’ve been in Spain for seven years now, and, yes, I have some friends here and there.

Some of my friends happen to live in Barcelona, where my partner lives and, yes, most of these started out by being my partner’s friends, not mine. I am their friend by association, but friend nonetheless.

And here in Madrid I have some friends too, which I have fought over tooth and nail to make.

Some from my Masters, some from a social group, some I met through other friends, some others I met in French class. Some I just met on the street, and many are just expats (and no, not mostly British).

I cherish every one of them, but still I seek more friends. Like-minded people, not just people I have something, or a lot of things, in common with, but people who are like me.

Yes, it may sound ridiculous, but finding people like you is one of the most important things in life.

And what are people like you like?

Well, they are however you wish to define that, but basically, they are like you.

They are like the kind of people you say things like ‘people like you and I’ to.

Those people.

Like you.

So, just last week, through the power of the Internet and a dash of facebook, I met somebody I’d like to be friends with, but probably won’t be.

And she is the reason why this got written in the first place.

Let me tell you about this.

Last week, facebook advertised a page aimed at expats living in Spain who had things they wanted to get rid of, or sell. A sort of second-hand notice board for foreigners in the country.

Basically, if you came to Madrid to live 5 years ago, and you are going back home, you have to sell those Ikea bookshelves and CD collection which only you like. Plus your books.

You may end up throwing it all away, but now, thanks to the magic of the internet and the powers of facebook, your stuff can become someone else’s stuff.

So, there I was on the page, scrolling down to see what was there, hoping to find something I may like. And there it was: somebody was selling a surround sound system for €50.00

Me and another ‘user’ began to badger the owner of the product for a couple of days. One could come, one could not; then it rained; and it was sunny; then I was stuck in the office; and the other one seemed to pull out of the race, blah blah blah.

In the end I was the lucky one.

I went to her place, met her, her husband, and her baby. And really liked her.

After the whole transaction (I am now the proud owner of a Yamaha surround sound system for an incredible price and the cost of a cab ride home) was over, I went home thinking to myself, so… how would I go about befriending this nice person?

The usual fears and anxieties crept in.

She may think I’m a psycho. Or weird. Or any other number of social inequities may pop up in the equation.

Should I say something? Keep quiet?

Is she even in the market for a new friend?

A couple of years younger than I, and a mother, she may have no room or desire for new friends.

What should I do? Tell her I’d like to be her friend? Just move on?

If she were American, this process would be rather easy, but she is British, and as with all things UK, there are social procedures, nuances, and a myriad of unnavigable venues one should keep in mind so as not to make one big fat faux pas… and scare her off.

Age, in this respect, is beginning to be slightly burdensome.

Or perhaps not so much age but rather a clear, easy-to-follow,lack of befriending protocols.

 

Training of sorts...

AOG, Madrid

I spoke with a friend today about this blog. She mentioned she'd been reading it and that she felt she knew me a bit better for having done so.

Up until today, the only three people I'm aware of who read this are my mother , my best friend in the US, and, occasionally, my partner.

I was flattered and curious to know what she thought of it, after all, what else are blogs such as this one but exercises in vanity?

She seemed to reinforce this idea.

"You have a lot of tags on this blog. I didn't realize you had so many opinions on so many topics", she said.

My reply was, of course, pedantic. "Yes, opinions are free so of course I have many of those". I then encouraged ger to write one, but she declined. "I have nothing to say, and that which I do, I leave for my diary". I love having a friend who keeps a diary. Such an old thing to do.

I used to keep one too when I was a kid. Somewhere along the line I stopped. Perhaps I was too tired of moving around?

This past weekend I attended the Sitges Film Festival. On the flight there, I read an interview of the Spanish singer Concha Buika. She said that adults spend their childhood getting ready for what they are going to do as grown ups. "Children who grow up to be firemen constantly climb trees and get into trouble for doing so. But they are just training".

She then said that songwriters, and writers in general, also got into trouble because of lying. They lie because they are training; they are working on their stories.

I loved that biographical and sociological analogy. I like to think of myself as a writer. Certainly I work as a journalist. It was refreshing to think of that period of time as "training".

Now guess what I spent my childhood doing? It wasn't sports...

A non ex in Madrid

AOG, Madrid

Many years ago, perhaps 10, I met someone in London who appeared to be semi interested in me.

Nothing ever happened between us, since we met at a friend's place, and then all of us went out to dinner together but I noticed during the bus ride that I was being watched. However, my self esteem being what it was, I never gave this much thought. Neither one of us acted on it.

Then time passed, and I didn't see this person again. I forgot about them. Relationships came and went.

Then a few years later, I visited Madrid, and there was this person again, smiling. I didn't know they were no longer in London.

I was surprised.

Thinking we could have been friends I went over. We spoke.

This person confessed some sort of feelings back then (much more than what I expected) and did so just as we were leaving the locale. Other plans, other commitments that night, ensured we got nowhere fast and our conversation ended slightly abruptly.

All I heard was a "Don't you see what effect you have on me?" and that was it. Until then I had not seen that "effect". Intuited, yes.

We said we'd catch up the next day. Same neighborhood, common interests... But no. I was there, half hoping to see them again. But they did not show up.

I left the next day for London.

Then more time went by, and I moved to Madrid.

Last week I saw this person in a bar. No longer attractive. Older. Undesirable in "that" way. And yet I wonder if I should have said hi. Hello. How are you?

But I didn't.

It was a case of me seeing this person, and this person not seeing me back.

I'm not upset, or anything like that, far from it. I just hoped I wouldn't be so shy and could just say hi to people now and again.

What does protocol dictate about speaking to non-exes?

Rainy evening thoughts 2007

AOG, Madrid

I haven't blogged in a while. I'm blogging today because it is raining in Madrid. And we are in June. Last year, it rained very little here, and I missed the rain a lot. This year, it has rained much more.

I live on the fourth floor of a narrow street in central Madrid. Because my window (my only window) faces the street, I can hear the sound cars make as they drive over the wet streets. I love that sound. Almost poetic. Perhaps a little trance-like too. I know it from childhood. I find it comforting. It always means cool air. I even find it romantic. I don't know what it is about rain that I find romantic. But I do.

Tonight's rain has ensured that the sounds of people having a good time on the street are not as prominent as they normally are; one of the (small) drawbacks of living in a trendy neighborhood. Sometimes, at 3 and 4 am, I can hear drunken (and not so drunken) people walking and talking down my street. They laugh, make noise. In short, in Spain, other people's right to sleep comes below your right to make a ruckuss on the street at any time of the day or night. Something of a birthright I guess.

My flat in London was in a very quiet street, and it faced on all sides unto a courtyard. If something bothered me there, it was the sound of helicopters flying overhead, or ambulances and police sirens. Same as here. But there, people are more respectful of other people's right to live in quiet.

Still, today, I welcome the rain. It helps to cool down some of my anger and anxiety. I have been told that this year, my chances of going away on holiday are nil. Zip, zilch, zero. It is not so much that mind working, I don't at all, but I do feel, for the first time, that I'm being robbed of the opportunity to go, see and experience something new. This is what really hurts. Being robbed of this chance. I love traveling. But not this year.

A week or two ago, a friend from High School back in San Antonio, wrote asking if I was going to fly over for the 20 year reunion. How many years since 1988? Yes, twenty. I told her I probably would not go, though last time it was ok. Her and I rekindled our friendship and have remained internet friends since, though I had not heard from her in about 5 or 6 years.

Her life, on paper, looks good. Though she has had her ups and downs. With some luck, we might meet up here in Madrid next year. I am in no mood to go to Texas just yet.

I do miss those texan sunsets though...

Writing buddies Madrid; Chapter One

AOG, Madrid

Last week I posted an ad on the internet looking for writing buddies in Madrid. Yet another attempt to make a life here resemble slightly the life in London. Not that I hanker for London, but some things have been put away for too long. I need to write again. I need support. And writing buddies is going to have to do. My friend Regine is in Berlin, and the other ones are in London. I have to do this.

I met with one last thursday. We spoke much and wrote nothing. I was due to meet another guy last friday but it was impossible. So I might meet him this wednesday. I met another chap tonight. He's from Huesca province. And 23. Younger than I.

He told me about the way he envisions his death- out in the open Cantabrian sea when he is an old man. Isn't that exciting? he asked. He is 23. Very approachable and friendly. He smokes a lot. But this is Spain, so that is to be expected.

The two I've met thus far are very nice, if eccentric in their own way. As I suppose I must be too. I am glad I met tonight's writing buddie. I did some freewriting with him which I have not done in a long while. Mostly nonsene, but, My written nonsense! He was very complementary about my writing and when I asked if he'd like to meet again, he put his hands together and said "please". I think that is one of the nicest compliments I've had in a long time.

Yesterday the weather in Madrid was lovely. Sunny with a very light breeze. Today's weather was nothing to do with yesterday. It was cold and windy. I think it might rain tomorrow.