“How come you don’t hang out with your friends no more?” – Repo Man
Kermit knows that friends don’t tell friends to drive into the mouth of an active volcano.
I read a joke the other day: “Why don’t we read about Jesus’ other miracle very often? I mean, what guy has 12 close friends after the age of 30?”
It’s true. And it’s the post topic for healthy Friday. Why? Because we need friends to be healthy. And we need friends to help us hide the bodies. What bodies? Who said anything about bodies? My lawyer certainly says I don’t.
This post was originally going to be the second part of my post from Monday (LINK), but when I tried to put them together, it was sloppy, horrible, and I ended up having my hands stuck to my eyebrows with literary Super Glue®. The parts just didn’t fit. Or they didn’t fit when I tried to smash them together last Sunday night. The nouns, gerunds and library paste wouldn’t keep it together. At least not at 2AM. But it’s important to talk about. Why?
There’s a huge connection.
Something about the friendships you make when you are between the ages of 10 and 16 is . . . magic. And I think the thing that makes it magic is the years from 10 to 16, those six years . . . are (on average) about 50% of your life. And the specific 50% where you learn how to be mean. How to be hurt. How to feel shame. How to feel triumph. How to buy beer when underage at the 7-11© at the outskirts of town . . . .
The Mrs. and I (okay, mainly The Mrs.) used to watch a show where addicts would be confronted by their family in order to convince them to not be addicts. They went through the lives of the addicts – in almost every case, the addict had insufficient parental support (or some sort of tragedy) between the ages of 11 and 14. Very specific. Each story didn’t rhyme – it was nearly life plagiarism.
Something happens in that part of your life. That really, really long part of your life.
Hormones kick in. And every emotion is fresh. New. The crisp morning air? That first morning when you walk out to your car and, for the first time, see frost on the window? HOW COOL IS THAT? After a few thousand times, the frost becomes . . . another thing you have to deal with. Again.
You only get one first kiss. You only get one first walk hand in hand (or hands in tentacle if you’re a Lovecraftian monstrosity) with your girlfriend. The newness is huge. And the friendships are closer. Why? How many times will you climb the water tower in your town to paint it? Well, not at all now, because Homeland Security would probably take you to Gitmo® for putting your name on the water tower. Because . . . terrorism?
First dates. First breakups. First . . . everything.
Anyway – your life is so very full of firsts. The psychological impacts are massive – and the need for parental support is likewise massive. It’s nice to have the support of people that are genetically connected to you (LINK) and understand you. Probably. We Post-Modern-Vikings seem to be somewhat erratic. I digress.
This time of your life was difficult. It was new. It was a struggle. But it was yours. And your friends from this time had several attributes – they didn’t want anything from you. They just wanted you. They wanted to jump in your car and head to the party place and find the guys who couldn’t let go of high school and had a keg of beer. And why not? Life stretched out forever.
Until it didn’t.
I have had several rare opportunities – I’ve reached out to friends from the past who I finally found due to Internet searches (I’m not a bit Facebook® fan) and talked to them. And we restarted right where we left off.
The Mrs. talked about some psychological theory where people related to their friends . . . forever, in the same way they related to each other when they first formed their relationship. So, you’d always be tied into that same social hierarchy. You’d always be friends in the same way you were when you first formed that friendship.
Amazing. Psychological ties to your friends are rooted in multiple dimensions – they are rooted in your common origin story (like when Wolverine® met Cinderella™!) and your common goofiness. Also? Your love of songs that were popular when you were at your absolutely stupidest. Like 13.
Thankfully, nobody remembers where those bodies are . . . .
