A fellow returned emigrant said she is still struggling to make good friends in her neighbourhood after eight years. When I came home, I expected to comfortably slip back in with old friends who had braved the recession in Ireland. We are scattered across the east, though, and that means that meeting up can be a hoo-ha.
I came home because I was lonely, fed up of saying goodbye and I wanted roots. Through volunteering, at school gates, on side lines and in dense cul de sacs, I got to know people in my area. If I walk down to the shops, more than likely I will meet someone who knows my name, and I love that. More than that, I made proper, lifelong, life-saving friends who live a stone’s throw away.
A doctor told me that humans are like tuning forks. One tuning fork can force another tuning fork to vibrate if they have the same frequency. It is called resonance. When I think about how I got close to people in my ether, in fact I had observed and admired them from a slight distance for quite a while before we became friends.
Jan offered to help me after I put a question in the God-forsaken class WhatsApp group. The next thing we were in a park bonding over our mutual hatred of WhatsApp groups. I thought it was sweet that she had brought a flask of hot chocolate and I was glad I had taken a notion to bring an old jar with flowers from the garden for her. We are the sole members of a WhatsApp group call ‘F**k all yous’, named after some choice graffiti on Tara Street. We know the minutiae of each other’s every day. She is stitched into the fabric of my life.
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I met Tony at a neighbour’s kitchen table when I was asked to help with fundraising for a local community group. We had been in touch regularly for years. I asked him one day how he was and he asked me how I was. We admitted that actually, neither of us was in great form. “C’mon we’ll go for a walk,” he said. He is like a harbour. I only need to be near him to feel lighter, safer, warmer.
[ The art of hanging out: how to create more positive friendship habitsOpens in new window ]
Brian was my son’s coach. If I ever get hit by an articulated lorry, he will pull me up and say, “You’re not dying today, bud”. He is incessant. He teaches and inspires me. Our friendship grew from speaking between one and 25 times a week, normally about the football club and on occasion about other stuff that I refer to as “real life”. I love him because he is like a giant beating, talking (always talking) heart.
I told the woman who had lamented her lack of local friendships that maybe I made friends easily because people seem to open up to me. Virtual strangers tell me their deepest traumas and fears at supermarket entrances, our arms heavy with shopping. It can be draining though, I said. She said I was a “deep feeler”.
I’ll give you five minutes to get the weather and the news out of your system. I want to know what you think and feel. I want to know if you like cold air in your lungs, what your favourite chocolate bar is and who makes you laugh until you cry. If you want to give a conversation some substance, you just have to ask one question – why?
When I was 18 I was introduced to a woman called Louise. She was in her late 50s then. “Well, tell me Céire, are you in love?” she asked. I didn’t know what to say then. I think she may have interrupted me watching an episode of Home and Away. What a question though. If she asked me now I’d link her arm and say, “Louise, let’s find somewhere to sit; we’re going to have a long chat.”
It might sound like it’s easy for me to make friends. I’m actually not great with new people, and particularly not with groups of people. I’m normally swearing under my breath. I go to bed before nine o’clock most nights. I feel heavy-hearted a lot of the time. Sometimes I just want to be alone – utterly alone, for two days preferably.
People tell me they don’t have time for themselves, let alone for friends. I desperately need my friends. Let the dishes pile high. Do the laundry tomorrow. Catch up on sleep another time. Have eggs and soldiers for dinner.
I don’t have to wait the six weeks until the planned dinner with old friends to feel the strong connection I yearn for. Are you free now? I can be in the park shortly for a walk. Give me 20 minutes and I’ll meet you at the pub for two pints and a bag of crisps. If I’m lucky, I’ll bump into you at the local cafe and we’ll get into a physical fight about who’s getting the coffee.
Seek resonance, it’s just around the corner.
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