This past week or so I’ve been catching up with some old school friends. We’ve not had anything to do with each other in over 20 years. Or more than half our lives. That’s a disturbing thought right there. It’s been longer since I last saw them, then it was from leaving the womb until I last saw them. I feel old.
It’s been fun catching up. Especially as, much to my surprise, I am seemingly well remembered. I had largely expected to fade into obscurity in these peoples memories. Overwritten by more prominent personalities or events. I was, after all, a nobody. Forever stuck in what felt like the crushingly unpopular segment of the school populace. To be forgotten within mere moments of departure. Like removing your hand from a bowl of water. Within minutes, any evidence you had your hand there is gone. Not even a ripple.
More stunningly than that I seem to be, for the most part, FONDLY remembered! While I couldn’t get a girlfriend to save my life back then, I apparently made a lasting enough impression on some people, and that I suppose is the more important of those two things. One in particular, Wendy, seemed ecstatic to hear from me. She was always really nice to me, and I counted her as a friend, so it was great to find out she’d been trying to contact me. (Though I would still like to know how after 20 years she looks great, and I’ve lost most of my hair.)
Having left England some twelve years ago now, I had lost that vital connection to my past. I can’t drive past a particular house and think “Oh Julie used to live there”. I don’t see the personalities on TV that I grew up watching. (Though this is not always a bad thing.) In short it’s like being reborn as someone else. You’re so far away and so far removed from everything you knew, it can make you feel insular and detached. I have a family here in Canada, but they know nothing of my first 25 years, nor can I show them anything of it. (Except old school report cards which pretty much universally say “He’d be really good if he applied himself.”) The first 25 years are mine, and mine alone. It’s almost like prison in some ways. I had this life that nobody I’m with now knows about. Nobody to share memories with. Even simplistic ones like big TV events or whatever. Nobody I know here cares that England went out on penalties in the semi-final of Italia 90. Nobody here saw “Ghostwatch” on it’s original airing. Sports, TV, even music. Nobody here has any idea what I’m talking about. The fact that Frankie Goes to Hollywood had a Christmas number one means nothing to anyone here. (I really miss giving a damn about the top 40. That was practically my religion in my teenage years, following the charts.)
I’ve had friends, obviously, but if you want to see how good your friends really are, I highly recommend moving to another country so they actually have to put some effort in to stay in touch. I did just this by moving to Canada. It had the effect of decreasing my circle of friends to almost nothing as they slowly slipped away and stopped writing to me. In short, of the seven or so people I was friends with and stayed in touch with, a mere one was still writing to me four years later. (And even he’s dropped off the face of the Earth now.)
I can honestly say that right now, I have no friends in the real world. As in people I could call up right now (metaphorically speaking. It’s 1:15am right now) and hang out with. Oh sure, I have lots of friends online. People I can turn too if I need to talk or whatever, but in the real world? Nada. I can’t say it’s from lack of trying, because I don’t try anymore. Part of the problem of growing up in one country, and then moving to another is the huge cultural differences. Guys my age here, it seems most drink beer (I don’t drink) and talk about hockey. (I don’t watch hockey.) Moving to a different country hit the reset button for my real world Friends List so to speak, and I’ve never managed to fill any of the gaps back in again. All that history, just gone, because they were too damn lazy to put in the extra effort to stay in touch. (After all email is so hard to do…)
So to have people like Wendy clearly have fond memories of me is rather lovely. Sure, we change, but when they say you’re still funny etc… It’s reassuring to know that any problems you may have making friends, or the fact that you lack friends to start with, is not down to some crushing inability to be interesting. It’s down to circumstance. I don’t work. (Back problem means I’m stuck at home.) I don’t drink. I don’t get invited anywhere because I’m never in a position to be somewhere to GET invited. If I was religious, I’d probably have a church or something, but I am not religious. Used to be. Now I follow my own path, alone. In short, I have no avenue to meet people, and even if I did I am extraordinarily choosy, and would have a hard time making friends with someone who, for example, likes reggae, dismisses any film that isn’t in color or that has subtitles, or who thinks Rob Schneider is an unappreciated comedy genius.
Is 37 years old too old to make friends? I don’t know. My Dad didn’t meet his, for want of a better expression, best friend until they were in their 40’s. Neither of my parents had many friends when they were my age. Most likely because my alcholic, man-hungry mother would have tried to sleep with them. (That’s just a pet theory of mine. She slept with at least 3 family friends and that’s only the ones I know about. One of them, his wife was pregnant at the time. Classy broad my mother…) My Dad met his friend on CB radio.
That raises an interesting parallel. A social medium. The internet is like that, only on a global scale. I discovered today this nice lady I’ve been chattering with on Twitter, she lives a mere 90 minutes away from me. I had no idea. You chatted to someone on a CB radio, you knew they’re within 10-15 miles of you purely by the laws of physics. (Unless they were running boots. Ah, those were the days…) On the net, they could just be down the street, or more likely halfway around the world. The intimacy of communication is still there, but the closeness isn’t. Chances are if you have any circle of friends on the net, you will never meet most of them. It’s the ultimate in isolationist social contact. Communication for the hermit lifestyle. Friends from a distance.
This has kind of meandered off course somewhat from my original intent. However, let’s try and get it back to my main point. I have no friends! HAHA! No, the main point is this: It’s taken revisiting my mostly miserable school years to learn a valuable lesson. (“Tonight, on a very special “Blossom””) The relationships we form, even if they don’t last, form an indelible imprint in the sands of time. (Dear god, I am so sorry to wheel out such a cliche. I will flaggelate myself accordingly when I’m done. Sickbags are available at reception. For the cliche, not the flagellation. That will be a private affair.) Many people will see these footprints, and make their own as well. If you ever feel removed from your past. Disconnected in some fashion, whether it be through choice, an accident of design, or for whatever reason, always remember: You may not know it, but somewhere, despite clearly believing otherwise, you really did make a great impression on someone. Someone you didn’t expect. Maybe you made them laugh. Maybe you loved them. Maybe they loved you. One moment of compassion, one moment of kindness, one shared moment of hilarity, is all it will take for that imprint to last forever. When you’re at a low ebb like I have been lately, it’s heartening to think that somewhere, someone you once knew has been thinking about you. Somewhere, despite being firmly convinced that the opposite must be true, you had a positive effect on someone. Whether it be through laughter, love, friendship or countless other ways.
In short, you mattered to someone enough that over two decades later, they still think fondly of you.
I really can’t think of a greater compliment than that.