I used to have a habit of jumping into friendships without examining if there was an actual alignment of values. I mean, until about five years back, I was barely able to articulate my own values with certainty. Looking for values alignment before that was like looking for a city on the map without knowing what the city was called.
Circumstances drove my friendships. Were we in the same class? Let’s be friends. Were our parents friends? Sure, we can be friends too. After immigration, that turned into, are you coming from the same country that I am from? We have enough common ground to be friends then.
Familiarity and commonality are not enough for deep, fulfilling friendships. These are just the starting points. I would learn this later on in life when I became a coach and assumed all coaches were my friends.
Regardless of whether we met through circumstance, familiarity, or commonality, I cherish our memories, truly. These friends were a part of my life’s fabric during one phase or another. We shared belly laughs, and they’ve probably seen me cry at one time or another. I remember most of their well-chosen gifts through birthdays, Christmases, and weddings. I remember the mischief we got into together. I remember the glue that held us together, although it’s all worn out and wonky now.
As I’ve gotten to know myself better, I’ve learned what I need from friends and partners. And an alignment of top values is a nonnegotiable now. So, I’ve had to let some of them go. Sometimes, with a fond goodbye, but other times, just by slipping out through the back door late at night when I didn’t have the language to verbalize my preferences without hurting anyone.
I don’t know if I’ll ever know if they get sick or something godforsaken befalls them. I don’t know if they will tell me. I don’t know if I will tell them if the same happens to me either. Ships passing in the night are what we were, and what we will be.
Isn’t that what we are all in each other’s soul journeys anyway? One stop, one phase, one dimension of our travails.
