I recently read an article that claimed when it comes to friendships, studies have shown that the average human mind can maintain about 150 stable relationships at any given moment. I actually laughed out loud when I read that. I’m hard-pressed to maintain two or three stable relationships, much less be cool with enough people to fill the entire economy-class section of a 737. The article went on to say that most people have a closer circle of about fifteen friends, and an even more intimate circle of roughly five friends. To me, even five friends sounds like a full-time job.
“You have to be a good friend to have a good friend,” a very wise woman once said to me. I believe my response to her statement was, “Well, duh.” But I am not a good friend. That’s not to say I don’t care about my friends; I just don’t want to give them rides to the airport, or help them move, or scroll through photos of their grandkids. I send my friends birthday cards and letters, engage in text exchanges, and like their Facebook and Instagram posts. But seeing them in person requires leaving my house, an activity I find less enjoyable the older and more ornery I get. Yes, I could invite them to my home, but then I’d have to get it into “guest condition,” and that’s just too much of a hassle.
I didn’t always have this attitude. I used to hang around with a number of people I referred to as good friends. We’d attend parties together, go out for drinks and dinners, play golf, catch up over coffee. But out of that large group of people I’ve only seen two of them face to face since 2018. I could blame the pandemic, but I fear a desire for solitude might be in my DNA. My mother was a hermit. She had no interest in friends. Staying home alone and reading was her greatest joy. But according to my mom’s doctor, isolation and lack of friends was a big factor in the rate at which dementia took over my mom’s mind. Now, living in a memory care facility, my mom has no choice but to be social, an activities director sees to that. And while my mom’s dementia hasn’t changed, she’s much happier now that she has a social circle.
I know I should change. Friendships are vital to good mental health. But change takes effort. A few weeks ago, I saw a dear friend for the first time in years. We talked and laughed and behaved the way old friends do, with relaxed familiarity. As we parted, I promised to call him soon so we could schedule a date for dinner. I haven’t spoken to him since. I don’t know if it’s procrastination or evasion that keeps me from dialing his number. Maybe I’m just out of practice.
Steven Tingle is the author of Graveyard Fields and is the monthly contributor to this column. Find more at steventingle.com
