THE "MEDIUM FRIEND"

 

Berthe Morisot, TWO GIRLS, 1894

I never heard the phrase "medium friend" before today when I read an article called "The vexing problem of the Medium Friend" by Lisa Miller. I've been thinking about friendship lately.   friends are important.  We don't want to vex. or be vexed by, our friends

Closest friends by definition cannot test the limits of our time, love or energy.  We love them, we make time for them, we preserve our energy for them. If one thing falls through, we schedule another. Best friends are called that for a reason; they are not second best in our lives.  

Medium friends are also genuine friends.  We laugh together, share news, bring insights and have serious conversations.  We may share a history of neighborhood, work or school, or have similar interests.  There are bonds. I think of my college roommate, a friend from 7th grade on, but because of distance, over the years we have each made closer friends.  Our history is deep but our contact infrequent.  Yet just thinking of her brings a warmth to my heart.    

So what is vexing about this?  The article says, and we know, that reciprocity is the foundation of friendship. Imbalance is a stumbling block.  The tension in a medium friendship arises from asymmetric expectation.  You may like your medium friend more than they like you, or vice versa.  One of us may want more time or sharing than the other. With our closest friends, as with our partners, we sort this out.  But without that closeness, with medium friends the different expectations continue. The relationship suffers from a lack of clarity.  What do we each want from the other?  In a way, it can--but shouldn't--be like dating

Miller writes that the "silences around a medium friendship are recognizable . . . to anyone who [hears] 'I'll call you' too many times."  One man wonders whether his feeling that a friend depends upon him too much is a result of his own sense of self-importance rather than any neediness in her. But being a "medium friendship," they never approach it.  Another person is hurt to be introduced as a "work friend."  "I thought we were closer than that," he thinks, but never says.  Another is confused because her friend cancels and doesn't follow up to reschedule.

"Such an imbalance confounds and wounds us," the author says," leaving us feeling powerless, angry or self-critical.  But we have no recourse."  Our friendships are bound by invisible lines we may not even be aware of ourselves.  

So what might be a different view of friendship?  The article discusses one not ranked (or giving rise to divergent expectations), but where each friendship is organic.  I have a group of knitting friends, a book group made of friends, couples' friends who are so close they are like family, couples we eat out with.  You may have the perfect tennis partner or walking buddy.  I may have someone who understands the law the way I do, or literature; who loves dogs or follows Duke basketball; or enjoys a serious conversation.  Who shares my faith or love of nature and gardening.  Who will knit or craft with me or go shopping.  Each friendship can flourish on its own terms.  We are both served.  What a lovely medium friendship.  And if it waxes and wanes, that's what friendships do.  They serve a purpose that might dissolve for one of the friends or for both.  Or they may rekindle because the friendship was deep enough or rewarding enough to outlast the waning.  

This article gave me much to think about today.  It was time well-spent.  Perhaps with these insights I can enrich my friendships as well.  

                                In friendship, Nina Naomi 

THE DIFFERENCE THIS YEAR

This Christmas I noticed something special and I'm hoping others had the same experience.  Some years there's a disconnect between getting ready for Christmas and the evening or day itself.  After all, expectations run high.  

Some years the choosing, ordering or buying of gifts, the tracking and worry about the teenager's high-tops arriving on time (they didn't), the cleaning and decorating, the grocery trips, then forays for more not to mention the cost, can overshadow what we're preparing for.  We want love and peace and a modicum of calm and a candlelit night and a Jammie day.  We want carols and prayers (answered please) and good health.  We want family without drama.  We want alone time but just the right amount.  Whew, we want a lot!  No wonder we can be disappointed.  

Well, somehow this year was different.  And it happened without changing anything but myself.  When I wrapped the gifts for under the tree, I reused colorful boxes or gift bags from other years and only added tissue and ribbon.  I enjoyed the photos sent by the UPS of my packages outside a recipient's door.  We left a gift for our postal carrier Samantha, who is reliable as a clock.  I was so grateful to be preparing meals for a few friends and family.  I tried new recipes.  Two grandsons came the day after Christmas.  We're burning fires from the downed limbs in our woods and giving the kitchen a sweep when it needs it.  

But more than that.  I noticed that we gave each other small gifts on Christmas Eve:  teas and fancy tea towels, books and a new wallet, sweaters and cotton shirts or pajamas, and that each was unwrapped slowly and admired.  I noticed how appreciation shone from the faces of the small family gathered that night.   

I saw the comraderie of the brothers baking mint cookies for dessert after opening more gifts: a handknit beanie (made by me) for one and colorful socks, a sweater for each, and for their PaPa a picture album they filled with favorite photos.  No extravagance but time.

Every year the season passes too quickly, doesn't it?  That in itself is a reminder that it has to be the journey, not just the day.  But this is true of all of life, isn't it?  It's all about the journey.  About paying attention and noticing.  About savoring moments that may not seem memorable until they are gone.   Staying up late to put together a child's chair and table set is one of those moments for me.  Fixing a holiday meal with too many people underfoot, another.  I bet you have your own such recollections.  

So, I didn't feel the disconnect this Christmas.  Maybe you didn't either.  Maybe we all accepted the limitations swirling around this time of year.  Maybe our expectations were about the birth of the Christ child and the warmth of friends, family and memories and we didn't look for perfection anywhere.  And so being renourished, maybe we are now ready to go forward and help others in all the ways we can.  

Thank you, Lord.  AMEN

 

IS CHRISTMAS WORTH IT?

 

Now that it's over, was this Christmas worth it? The work, the travel delays, the risk of spreading or catching Covid, the worry, the rush, the mess, maybe even the loneliness. Last year we threw ourselves into the pre-vaccine-outdoors-firepit-Christmas. It was a challenge to be met and we met it. 

This year, well, like other years it depends upon our expectations, doesn't it?  If we expected every gift given or received to be just what was wanted, that probably didn't happen.  If we expected no disappointments over who was vaccinated or wasn't, only the most homogeneous families pass that test.  If, on the other hand, all were on best behavior; no disparities among family members emerged; no questions arose, even silent ones, about whose bad habits were evident again; no one drank too much; in other words, if there was not one thing to overlook or minimize or justify:  now that would be a perfect Christmas. 

Or would it?  We would still miss those who are absent, the empty chair or two.  Grief takes no holiday.  We would still remember when we were children ourselves and believed in Santa and fairies and magic; when whatever worries there were weren't our worries.  We would remember, if we're lucky, when there was always a live tree, gigantic and fresh, dripping with old-fashioned ornaments. We would feel time passing, as the children get older and the parents and grandparents come nearer to their final stages.  

Christmas carries so much freight.  Some of us (like me) throw ourselves in to it.  I have Christmas dishes, Christmas candles, Christmas throw pillows . . . . I begin clipping holly and pine boughs the weekend after Thanksgiving. I hang cards on a string. Some others of us, do less.  No tree. Maybe a poinsettia, or a table-top manger.   

But if we expected the angels to sing and the baby to be born we were not disappointed.  If we expected love to shine through every awkwardness or worse, that probably happened.  If we expected forgiveness to be circling like drifting clouds, it's never too late to put that in motion.  If something good happened that wasn't looked for, well that was nice.  If we noticed our blessings--enough to eat, shelter, someone or two showing us love, "Silent Night" by candlelight, a tree and a few presents, the security of faith in a God who is with us in joy and in sorrow--in that case who wouldn't say that Christmas was worth it? 

Who wouldn't say that reaching out and reaching in during the darkest days of winter wasn't the best thing ever to do?  If all you want to know is that a baby is born who on Good Friday will die and on Easter rise again, and that each of us moves from this earth to Eternal Life, then this Christmas was, like all the others, an affirmation.  If all you expect is on this Christmas to give your all for yourself and for those you love, or even just know; to be one with God and creation; to accept your life as it is and make it the best of it that you can, then this Christmas was worth it.  

If you believe no longer in Santa Claus, but in Christ our Savior who is willing to spend every moment of every day by your side, then this Christmas was worth it.  

In peace, Nina Naomi

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

YOUR CALMER SIDE

Illustration by Lori Roberts, Quote by Eckhart Tolle

You know I'm a newcomer to mindfulness, just two and a half years.  But ever since I started the practice I've looked for helps.  They're abundant.  One of the helps I found got me thinking about our calmer sides.  We all have one.  I guess it's the accessibility that differs, from person-to-person, from day-to-day.  We know when we're calm we feel differently.  Our breath, our heart rate, our minds are all sending signals of patience and kindness, with ourselves and with others.  

As part of this month's culmination in Thanksgiving I've decided to make gratitude and thankfulness an intention.  The science on this tells me my calmer side will rejoice.  With a little help from the pros, here's the plan:  First, let go of the desire for my life to be different than it is.  Sure it would be nice to feel younger, to have all the family closer, to have all my prayers answered. If wishes were horses . . . .  But that's not real, is it? The idea is to accept today, as it is.  And when I weigh everything, today just as it is, is good.  I can be thankful for that.


Second, let go of expectations. I can tell just by writing this, that leaving expectations behind brings peace.  My breath has deepened.  We can still believe in ourselves, work hard, change anything toxic that we can.  But be more flexible in accepting the results.  

Third, to let go of expectations and limitations means also to let go of the illusion of perfection.  Ah, something easy for me. I couldn't enjoy my life at all if it were tied to perfection.  My yoga poses, my pottery class, the sweater I'm knitting, the poetry I write, the meals I cook, this blog, my body, my whole personality, all are so far from perfect . . . .  And yet, I still trust myself first, my intuitions and my decisions. Where are you on this path?  At a good place I hope. 


Fourth, let go of comparisons.  We've all seen this maxim in one form or another.

"Comparison is the Thief of Joy"

            Theodore Roosevelt

That's what's wrong with social media isn't it?  For all the fun and good it does and the connections it builds, no one ever says "When I'm on Facebook I feel so fulfilled" or "What I like best about my life is the time I spend on Facebook."  Instead it makes us feel itchy, vaguely dissatisfied, morose even--like when we've watched too much TV or sat at the computer or been indoors too long.  I am working to be content with what I have.  That means no comparisons. No comparing houses, cars, jobs, children, spouses, vacations, abilities, achievements . . . no comparing lives!  Experts say letting go of comparisons creates space to appreciate where we are today and how far we've come. 

Fifth, let go of the past.  Not the good things.  Not the memory of my mother's love or how our babies felt when they were little, not the house I grew up in with my brother or the first date with my husband.  But the past that breeds resentment.  The traumatic past, the tough and terrible past that is triggered so unexpectedly.  The past of which we would be rid. This is a hard one; it may require professional help.  Sometimes when I am going somewhere I say, "I'm not going to take __X__ with me."  Some baggage, some thought, some memory.  I can't change the past but maybe, just maybe, I can leave it where it belongs. 

Lastly, let go of "someday."  I know I'm too old to put things off.  But perhaps we all are.  If it's important find a way.  Don't wait until we're out of school or married or the kids are older or we have more money or we're retired.  The expiration date of life is uncertain.  Less uncertain as we age, but still . . . .  If we've let go of expectations and comparisons and limitations then there's no reason to put off what is important to us.  After all, it doesn't have to be perfect!  We've let go of that!

So with help from others this is my November's recipe for calm.  A new season, a new month, a new plan.  And if it goes awry, not as I expect, or not as well as someone else's plan, I'll take it calmly and be grateful for what is.  Trusting myself.