Friendless In Ypsilanti
When you're here but your friends are there.
Two months ago I made a Facebook post owning up to the hard truth that I didn’t have any local friends and was in search of events or classes or such where I might meet people I shared interests with. I have a lot of acquaintances, people who I believe care about me, some a great deal, and about whom I care, some a great deal, people I think would miss me if I died or moved. But no one who wants to actually hang out with me.
This wasn’t an easy post to make; I felt vulnerable and even, well, ashamed. What had I done wrong to end up in my beautiful little home, with my beautiful little back garden, and no friends to share it with? But it was a step I needed to take. I’d been wrestling with this knowledge for years, thinking it would resolve itself any day. That I would wake up one morning to a ringing phone and a calendar bustling with dinner dates. But I hadn’t.
Despite being a shy introvert, I’ve always had an abundance of friends. All through high school and college and my twenty-five years in NYC, I was out every night – dinners, movies, concerts, plays, parties, clubs, cupcake shops, art shows, rambles around town – and busy every weekend. Rather than searching out someone to spend time with me, I was often combining friends into group outings to fit everyone in (being a freelance writer, I was alone all day clearing out energetic space for such interactions and on the more-than-one-person nights I would spend most of the time quietly overwhelmed in a corner daydreaming of being safely home… yet somehow still having a blast.).
When I moved from New York City to Michigan many years ago, I quickly made acquaintances. If you strolled through town with me (I walk my dog twice a day, and am often chitty-chatting with people), you’d think I was popular! But for a variety of reasons the sort of friendships I’d enjoyed in the past didn’t manifest here. Many people I clicked with were younger than me with children keeping them busy; many already had active lives with the sort of network of friends I’d once had and I didn’t fit in; in the early years my health tanked in the aftermath of head and brain injury and I often needed to bow out of the invitations I did receive so even though it’s over a decade later with my health much improved I’ve been understandably erased from many call lists; they like me just fine but I’m not really their let’s-hang-out cup of tea; the life circumstances of friends I did have have changed and some have moved and some have died; we all have such busy schedules, responsible for so much; and most likely a bevy of things I know nothing about. I weirdly don’t take any of it personally. Whatever the causes, the result is the same: I spend day after night after day largely alone.
I was bowled over by the response to my Facebook post. Heaps of people suggested ways to find local community based upon shared interests for which I was grateful. But another heap commented or messaged me that they were experiencing the same thing.
One woman wrote: “I just wanted to thank you for your vulnerability, and commiserate… I have lived where I live my entire adult life. And I used to have a great sense of community here. But for a variety of reasons, internal *and* external…I find myself feeling quite isolated.”
Another: “Thanks for…sharing what many others are experiencing.”
And another: “I’ve tried joining things, because it seems those kind of friendships I miss shared default activities or interests. Making “friend dates” without that, even with the sincerest of intentions, just haven’t seemed to work for me…Still hopeful, but realize that routine and shared activities are just a fact of the kinds of friendships I miss.”
There were more. One woman was so inspired, she made her own post in search of people to hang out with near her.
Although it didn’t change the circumstances of my loneliness, it was comforting to know I’m not alone in my inability to find people who want to spend time with me.
I was recently chatting with a friend about this. She’s twenty years younger, lives in NYC, and faces a similar dilemma, not because she moved or has health challenges rather because so many of her friends left the City, in particular after Covid. “The landscape has shifted,” she said.
Another friend, also a younger New Yorker, also wanting more hangout friends, marvels that I had such a robust friend base to begin with. “I haven’t lost my friend community. I never had that many friends to begin with.”
I have indeed been lucky with friends. And I still am. Through modern technology—phone calls, Zoom, FT, texts, emails—I interact regularly with multiple friends. These daily connections help. But it’s not the same as spending time in person. Laughing at the cuteness of the random squirrel who dramatically stopped in front of you, looked you in the eye, scratched his head, and dashed on. Sharing bites of a delicious meal that seems too good to be true. Falling into conversation with a stranger on the park bench next to yours who has fascinating stories about Detroit back in the day, that inspire you and your friend to share stories that otherwise wouldn’t have come out. Discovering the perfect bakery down a tucked-away alley which happens to be right next door to the coolest record shop. Brushing shoulders as you saunter down the street. Picking fluff off each other’s t-shirts. Spontaneously treating one another to bag of homemade pretzels or the perfect bar of soap. Staying out way longer than planned because the sun felt so good on your backs as you were walking. Or one of you unexpectedly began crying and the other held their hand in witness. Or you became lost and ended up somewhere strange or scary and you needed each other to get home. Whispering. Heads touching. The smell of the other’s laundry detergent or shampoo. Or you ended up somewhere fantastic, a beautiful adventure, full of mischief and giggles and the sort of comfort and confidence a shared experience brings and you didn’t want to leave. Or you were just sitting somewhere quietly, maybe working on separate projects, or perhaps even a little bored—together. Even that can be transformative.
Someone wanting to spend time with you in person, choosing you to be their adventure person, their tea-shop person, their running-errands person, their backyard-in-the-hammock person, lights up your body and spirit and soul in ways you don’t even realize is happening, until it’s gone.
There is a loneliness epidemic in America, most likely beyond. Surgeon General Dr. Vivek Murthy wrote an advisory about it and the concomitant health concerns—one of which is a 50% increase in developing adult dementia, already a concern of mine due to brain injury.
Yet the loneliness I experience is possibly a uniquely modern one. Yes, my friend pool has shrunk due to health challenges, moving, busy schedules, aging, and death, but it is still vibrant and extensive. I am not alone. I am not unloved. On birthdays and holidays or when beloved animals die or I publish somewhere exciting or I have a setback or an advancement with my health, I am slathered in phone calls and emails and texts. I’m not forgotten. And yet: without hangout friends, someone who lives down the block, someone from whose t-shirt I can pick a bit of fluff, a part of me is dimmed. It’s like having a constant craving and nothing satisfying to eat in the house.
I followed many of the suggestions from my Facebook post and met interesting people. Thus far, no friendships have blossomed. Another hard truth is if your people don’t exist where you live, you can’t magically force them to appear. I’ll keep trying new venues and see who pops up. And I’ll plan more Zooms and phone calls with friends. And, of course, I have all of you here!
Lately, I meet up with old friends (I grew up in Michigan) and both blood and chosen cousins and their extended families in neighboring cities, an hour or less away, more often than I once could (due to health challenges, driving was compromised for me for many, many years). And I have the most wonderful times! It’s deeply nourishing!
But I still miss the spontaneity of having a friend down the street, someone who’s game to grab lunch or go to a reading or join in on a dog walk at the last minute. Even if relatively close by, the necessity for driving can add a complication that local friendships don’t hold. When I signed with my wonderful new agent a few months ago, I tried finding someone who could pop out and celebrate with me. I ended up doing a celebration on Zoom with long distance friends.
I’m blessed with friends. And yet I spend most of my time alone (I remain a shy introvert, so am grateful for much of this precious alone time!). I feel grateful for modern communication technology and yet what I wouldn’t give to hear a good friend knocking on my door wanting to get into a bit of mischief.
How about you? Who are you hanging out with these days?
A dozen years ago my marriage imploded and I felt like I had fallen off the face of the Earth. My wider community mobilized beautifully to help me with the immediate needs. Helping me move into a new place with my kids, for instance. But it took YEARS to get through the divorce, the trauma, to figure out how to be a single parent, while losing all my social filters (that ability to pretend like my life wasn't in the toilet). I found that most people just don't have the stamina to stick close through the entirety of other people's trauma and transformations.
Then there were the years of trying to figure out how to be in romantic relationships again, and realizing how much TIME that requires, time that I then didn't have to cultivate friendships. And then there was the pandemic, which constricted everyone's social lives, but definitely mine. I've lived in this town since 2001, but I have only 2 or 3 close local friends. Maybe four? And none of them are really the sort to call me out of the blue to do stuff. We're all juggling so much obligation, so we schedule time weeks out. A dinner here, a walk there. There is no spontaneity and a LOT of alone time for me.
I tell myself I'm a writer and so I need it, which is true. That I'm an introvert, so I need it. Also true. But it is often lonely.
Oh my gosh, I had a huge burst of this feeling last night after looking at Facebook (which I don't really use anymore.) When I feel lonely, I tend to spiral in self accusations "You don't reach out. You don't try hard enough. You collapse on the couch instead of going out. You are wasting your life! You are a failure!!" (Yeah, my spirals are some good times.) And Jane, as you know, I'm only 20 minutes away from you!! But after a day of agitating work, making an effort to get out and see anyone seems like an ocean to cross. I crave kitchen table evenings playing cards or canning salsa. I really do think it's about driving for me. If I could walk across my lawn and spend time with someone I'd do it all the time! I don't know. Just random thoughts to say that this weird culture we all exist in seems to prioritize things that aren't good for us and minimize the things that could heal us all.