Without friends, we’d remain the social equivalent of toddlers, writes Jane Macdougall.IULIIA/Getty Images
Our friends disappoint us. They do. They’re not funny enough, not smart enough, not charming enough. One likes to be in bed before 10 p.m. One dresses like it’s 1999. Then there’s the one who lived in Sicily for two seasons and now says “Prego” instead of “Thank you,” even at sushi restaurants.
Check out the thousands of comments about this on Reddit. Or consider the remarks of George Eliot, one of the most celebrated English authors, who advocated for “the responsibility of tolerance,” a devotion to acceptance – of ourselves, yes, but chiefly, of other people, of their weaknesses, ticks and shortcomings of every description.
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In her 1859 novel, Adam Bede, Eliot wrote:
“These fellow-mortals, every one, must be accepted as they are: you can neither straighten their noses nor brighten their wit, nor rectify their dispositions; and it is these people – amongst whom your life is passed – that it is needful you should tolerate, pity and love: it is these more or less ugly, stupid, inconsistent people, whose movement of goodness you should be able to admire – for whom you should cherish all possible hopes, all possible patience.”
This is, in many ways, a parallel statement to that made by Kristin Scott Thomas’s character in the British TV show Fleabag. Sitting in the bar after collecting her Best Woman In Business award, Scott Thomas’s character lectures Phoebe Waller-Bridge’s Fleabag that, “There’s nothing more exciting than a room full of people.” Fleabag’s rejoinder is that people are disappointing. Scott Thomas then admonishes Fleabag, repeating it twice: “People,” she says, “are all we’ve got. People are all we’ve got.”
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In our postlockdown world and in the ever-widening quicksand of social media, people are losing touch and perhaps even patience with each other. We’re advised to edit our friend list, removing supposedly toxic relationships from the roster in the name of “self care.” We cull the field in hope of what? Finding a mirror image of our perfect selves? Failing that, an AI avatar? Loneliness and isolation are the only certainties.
Think for a moment about the celebrated friendships of cinema and television. They’re rarely matching bookends. Instead we celebrate the unlikeliest pairings – the one who says “Hold my beer” and the other who does. Lucy and Ethel. Mary and Rhoda. Arnold and Danny. Schitt’s Creek’s Stevie and David. Joey and Chandler. Phoebe and … anyone!
The cast of Friends – clockwise from top: Joey, Ross, Rachel, Phoebe, Monica and Chandler – were an unlikely group of pals, but the show celebrated their differences.HO/NBC via Reuters
The trick of it is to see the best in people even while rolling your eyes. To make it your practice – come hell or high water – to be magnanimous, despite the umpteenth retelling of that touchdown story from college, or yet another round of travel photos.
The beneficiary isn’t just our friends. Friendship is the matrix wherein self-respect is sown, the proving ground in our moral struggle against our vainglorious selves. Without friends, we’d remain the social equivalent of toddlers. Our best selves start with the responsibility of tolerance.
So I try. I do.
A friend calls with unhappy news. She’s getting divorced. Later that night, I find myself thinking about the anguish she’s going through. The next day I send her a note saying that she’s lightning in a bottle – brave and principled. I tell her to tuck that under her pillow and to call at any hour. She’s gratified. It feels good – that’s what I’d set out to do.
I started thinking about all my friends, of what makes them special to me. Like Linda. Being plainspoken is the hallmark of her personality. Her flat-footedness can make you ball your hand into a fist, but she shows up when you need her.
Then there’s Cherle. She’s a modern-day Disney princess but she grew up poor in a developing country; let her have her retail enthusiasms. Kathleen is all the Girl Guide patches: There’s nothing she can’t do and she’ll do it for you, too. (Try to overlook that she’ll start reorganizing your fridge; she thinks she’s helping.)
You have to explain your jokes to Annie, but she’s a terrific listener and will call you the next day with further thoughts and questions. Robyn will tell you when you’re being an idiot as well as hold your feet to the fire. She’s not even my 10th candidate for Mardi Gras but she knows where the bodies are buried and she’s not talking.
Don’t ask Amy to pick you up at the airport – “Was that today?!” – but do include her in any party because she always makes it better. Paige is congenitally cheerful – it’s maddening, but genuine. And how terrible, really, is it to have a friend who is unfailingly cheerful? Dana’s birthday cards are like glowing employee evaluations – ennobling reminders of your best self. I think this is a remnant of her days as a CEO doing performance reviews. A 5-per-cent raise almost always seems certain.
My ragtag group of male friends also benefit from indulgences. Randy came to my first wedding. I’ve known him through his two marriages and we speak in a shorthand earned over decades. Brad I’ve known since I was 13. He’s maddeningly punctilious but he calls me his Elizabeth Bennet, which gives me wings.
Back in the 1940s, good ol’ Bing Crosby had a hit song recommending people “accentuate the positive, eliminate the negative, latch onto the affirmative” – advice that transcends time. The object of this exercise (the responsibility of tolerance) is to frame your friends, and therefore your life, in the very best light. I also find it useful to remember that, these friends of mine? They, too, find their friends disappointing.
And that – gasp! – includes me.
Jane Macdougall is a writer based in Vancouver.
