There comes a time in life when you have to stop walking down a one-way street. It took me a long time to understand that.
The Address Book Truth
I’m in my 80s now, and I’ve outlived every close friend I ever had. I’m not talking about acquaintances or people I knew casually. I’m talking about the friends you could call at two in the morning. The people you laughed with, worked with, got into trouble with, and accumulated stories with.
They’re gone.
That’s one of those things nobody puts in the brochure about the golden years.
We talk about what aging does to our bodies. We compare aches and pains. We joke about getting out of a chair and making noises we didn’t make 20 years ago. We talk about wrinkles, gray hair, doctors and medications.
But we don’t talk nearly enough about what aging does to our address book.
Names disappear from it.
And sometimes the people who remain stop calling.
I’ve had family members say things like, “Where have you been?” or “How come you never call?”
For years, those words could make me feel guilty. Maybe I should have called. Maybe I should have made more of an effort. Maybe it was my responsibility to keep the relationship alive.
Then one day a very simple thought occurred to me:
My phone rings too.
What Makes and Keeps a Relationship
That’s not anger. It’s arithmetic.
A relationship involves two people.
The same is true of a friendship, a marriage, siblings, parents and grown children, cousins or anybody else we decide matters to us.
If I’m always the person making the telephone call, sending the email, writing the letter, arranging the visit or asking how you’re doing, eventually I have to ask myself a question.
If I stopped, would there still be a relationship?
That’s a difficult question because sometimes we don’t like the answer.
Reconnecting with an Old Friend
Last year I reconnected with an old friend named Harry.
I first met Harry in the early 1970s. He was a talented graphic artist, and I owned a steel fabricating business. He did artwork and signs for us, and because we lived in a fairly small town, our paths crossed from time to time.
In the early 1980s, I started another business involving skiing, and Harry and I became close friends.
We spent a lot of time together. He did artwork for my business. We played tennis. Mostly, we laughed. Harry was funny as hell, and I loved being around him.
Eventually life did what life does. We went in different directions, and sometime around 1985 I lost track of him.
I looked for him over the years but couldn’t find him. Then last year another old friend told me Harry had changed his last name. Suddenly, after roughly 40 years, there he was.
And for a while, I was right back in the 1980s.
Here was my buddy.
Harry was still a gifted writer. He would put something on Facebook – a piece of writing or poetry – and sometimes I’d take his words and turn them into a song. It was my way of reaching across all those years and saying, “Look, Harry. We’re doing something together again.”
The 1980s Were Over
But gradually I realized something.
I was trying to reconnect with the Harry I had known 40 years earlier.
Neither one of us was living in 1985 anymore.
Life had dealt Harry some very difficult cards, including tremendous personal loss. I understood why he had changed. I wasn’t angry with him. I certainly didn’t stop caring about him.
But I also realized that if I stopped reaching out, the communication between us would probably stop.
Eventually, I wrote Harry an email.
I told him that I loved him and treasured the friendship we’d had. I told him there was no anger and no animosity.
But I also told him I had to say goodbye.
I needed Harry to live his life, and I needed to live mine.
More than anything, I needed to get my ass out of the 1980s and back into 2026.
Sustaining a One-Way Relationship Helps No One
Sometimes saying goodbye doesn’t mean somebody did something wrong. Sometimes a relationship has simply finished the part it was meant to play in your life.
That’s something I wish more older people gave themselves permission to accept. We can spend an enormous amount of what’s left of our lives worrying about people who aren’t participating in those lives.
Should I call?
Should I write?
Maybe they’re angry.
Maybe I did something.
Maybe I should try one more time.
There’s nothing wrong with making that first call. Or the second. There are people going through grief, illness, depression and circumstances we know nothing about. Friendship sometimes means carrying more than half the load for a while.
But “for a while” and “forever” are two different things.
At some point, you are allowed to stop carrying an entire relationship by yourself. If you’ve been walking down a one-way street for years, turn the corner.
Find a Street with Two-Way Traffic
Find people who are happy when your name appears on their telephone. Spend time with people who want your company. Make a new friend. Call somebody who calls you. Join something. Build something. Learn something.
And don’t feel guilty about enjoying your life.
They call these the golden years. Well, make them golden. Gold doesn’t lose its value because somebody stopped looking at it. And if it gets a little tarnished, polish the damn thing and get back to living.
There aren’t enough years left to spend them sitting beside a silent telephone wondering why somebody hasn’t called.
Besides, there’s something they may have forgotten: My phone rings too.
Another great article: About Life’s Transitions: What Doesn’t Bend, Breaks.
Your Thoughts:
Have you been sustaining one-way friendships? What truths have that revealed – for you and the relationship?
