Earlier this week, I chatted with a friend on the phone for an hour. We’ve known each other since fifth grade but didn’t become close until high school. Many of our formative, adolescent days were spent on light-hearted antics—playing video games under the desk in class, pulling pranks on the unsuspecting physics teacher, and shaking Mentos candies in giant Coke bottles and watching them explode. At least twice a week, we would walk towards one of the two all-girls schools nearby (ours was all-boys) during lunch break to find a place to eat. Countless times, we dared each other to ask the girls at the restaurant for their phone numbers, but for years, it was all talk, no action.
We went our separate ways after graduation. I moved to America, and he continued his studies in Europe. Since then, our exchanges have been limited to infrequent text messages and phone calls. We would go without talking for years, but whenever we do, we pick it up right where we left off.
After seventeen years, our lives look very different: he’s an orchestra conductor based in Vienna, has two kids, and is on a two-year assignment in Southern France. I once watched a video of him performing with the Budapest Philharmonic Orchestra. Dressed in a polished black-tie suit, he swayed his head with intensity as his baton danced through the air like Harry Potter casting a spell on dozens of musicians. It’s amusing to see your childhood friend deeply engrossed in an artistic pursuit while recalling all the silly things you’ve done together as teenagers—there’s a sweetness to it.
The phone call triggered a few thoughts on friendship this week.
Brownian Motion
With over eight billion human beings on this planet, even if you have a thousand friends, you still only know 0.0000125% of the world’s population. Sometimes, when I walk through the city, I look at the hundreds of people on the streets whom I will never know. We bounce around like particles colliding with each other, yet almost none of this collision yields a meaningful relationship.
The fact that you and I have met—and I call you a friend if you are reading this—is quite special. We have yuanfan (緣分), as the Chinese would call it, or “fateful coincidence.”
Initial Barrier
Friendship requires taking risks, especially at the beginning. “Stranger danger,” we have been taught as children. By default, we maintain a distance from each other. Now and then, a spark pushes us and makes us want to connect with another person. We want to say hi, but we hesitate because we fear rejection. But a friendship will never form unless one person becomes vulnerable and initiates the first conversation. The flip side is that even if one initiates, the other person may not accept the invitation. It takes two to dance.
Similarities or Differences?
At a friend’s wedding last year, two people at my table shared that they had met the bride online—Twitter, of all places—because of their love for the Korean boy band BTS. The group quickly bonded, met in person, and traveled together multiple times. “Our tight-knit group shares a common interest—BTS,” one of them said, “But we quickly discovered how diverse we all are. Some of us have kids; others don’t. We live in different cities. It’s a group of eclectic backgrounds and life experiences. It’s awesome.”
Similarities attract, but the differences make the friendship interesting.
Convergent, Parallel, and Divergent
I often picture friendship as two lines representing the two people in the relationship. The lines converge, remain parallel, or diverge over time. Several factors determine the trajectory of the two lines: physical proximity (how close you live), core values (what you believe in), interests (what you care about), shared experiences (what you’ve gone through together), and effort (how much work you put in). With so many factors at play, knowing how a friendship will turn out is almost impossible.
Walk Beside Me
One time, a friend shared a problem with me. I turned on my solution mode and provided several ideas for addressing the issue. I was surprised that my response didn’t help at all.
“Actually, I just need to vent. Can you just listen?” my friend said.
“Don’t walk in front of me; I may not follow. Don’t walk behind me; I may not lead,” Albert Camus writes. “Walk beside me; just be my friend.” Doing nothing but walking with a friend can be challenging, but sometimes that’s the best thing we can do.