friendship – Gonzo With the Wind

In the not too distant past, I said I’d write something about friendship. But then life happened and the flames died down, leaving nothing but an ember behind. Well, the wait is over, because someone stoked the fire into a mighty roar!

If you manage to read through the whole thing, I’ll include the very words that inspired me at the bottom of this page.

All my life, I’ve flitted from loner to loner like a very busy little people-pleasing bee, trying to find matches for those who seek me out. Not bothering to seek out people I’d consider a good match for myself, of course, because that’s far too scary. (Also, I never planned on being around for very long in the first place, so why bother).

Regardless.

I wound up becoming everyone’s pal and confidante, but without having any real pals of my own. And with my constant need to be everyone’s best friend, I was ultimately an unpaid agony aunt-cum-matchmaker.

(Boo-hoo, poor me! Relax, it’s not that kind of post). But, if you’re in the mood for something a little darker, head on over to another one of my posts here, or buy my book.

I did get to a point, though, where I’d had it with the upkeep of these one-sided, fair-weather friendships, and I’d have to move far away and/or burn all bridges as thoroughly as humanly possible. As it turns out, you simply cannot rid yourself of a real pal that way.

I’ve known my very best friend for 30 years, and it’s the most effortless human relationship I’ve ever had. That’s not to say that we don’t go all in for each other when needs be – because we do – but it doesn’t feel like work. I know she doesn’t expect anything from me, and vice versa. We’re not afraid to say what we mean to each other, because there’s an unconditional love tying us together. She’s been there for me through some really horrible shit, and she’s still there – she must be nuts. But she’s my nutter.

The interesting thing here, though, is that we’ve lived hundreds of miles apart for the better part of those 30 years. For the longest time, I suspected this physical distance to be the only reason anyone would ever stay friends with me for any longer than a few boozy hours down the pub. These days, however, I’ve realised that’s not the case.

The pandemic probably helped change my mindset as well. In Edinburgh, we didn’t really have the opportunity to socialise the way we used to- at least not face-to-face – so if you did reach out to someone, it was out of a genuine wish to interact with that particular friend. And even now, as I live miles and miles away from my home, these guys are the ones I speak to more regularly than the people sat next to me in the office every day. And, as it turns out (with one or two exceptions in my geographical proximity), the friends I’ve made that are scattered all over the globe, are the ones I consider my closest.

What might have started out as a need to protect myself from the potential hurt of losing a friend has ended up being a sort of confirmation that I am worthy of being someone they’d want to keep in their lives. And the other way around.

Apparently, there’s something about ADHD and challenges with adult friendships worth researching, but I think all adult friendships require something more. They need to challenge you, to sustain you, to elevate you and keep you grounded, to enable you to see your own story from a different perspective when you’re stuck in a downward spiral (or a narcissistic doom loop, for that matter), and you need to be that for someone else as well.

My plan was to research this properly, because I came across a podcast episode on this. Not just one, to be fair. There are hundreds. But this one seemed like the real deal. I’ve yet to listen to it, so I’ll share the link below so we can all listen to it together.

And, as promised, I will now share the inspirational words of Mr. B (with his permission, of course). This, to me, is what friendship is all about. I consider myself to be very fortunate to have been on the receiving end of these words:

I share with you the strive to do better, to be better

I share self-loathing and self-sabotage

I share self awareness.

I share distrust of others.

I share utter devotion to the (very) few.

See you next Tuesday. Drop me an email if you have a topic you’d like me to write about!

I remember the first time I saw him play like it was yesterday. I remember how the old pub – and the people in it – came to life and became part of the soundscape, conjuring a tremendously powerful, yet somehow ethereal, ambiance and experience. It pulled me in like voodoo and it was as if we’d all been transported to an alternate reality, where day was night and night was day. What’s more, it was the first time in a long time I felt as if I belonged somewhere.

He was a wild thing, a crooner, poet, a machine – like Mad Max with a guitar, or Tom Waits, but with melody. Australian, of course. He was C.J. Lee.

Australian blues n’ roots, folks. You can check him out on YouTube.

I know what you’re thinking, so hold your horses. In the words of Layne Staley; It Ain’t Like That.

Anyway. We have arrived in Edinburgh, somewhere around 2014. I was desolate, heartbroken, at the end of my rope. I had nothing and no one and had left my old life behind for a love that had existed only in my mind. I had ventured out for a booze shop when something made me stop at the corner of my street and glance across the road. A pub had appeared from out of nowhere! And that’s when I saw a poster in the pub window, promising live music and… something about a wolf? Forgotten was my initial need to restock my liquor cabinet – I knew I needed to go to this session thing.

And, if you’ve ever been to one of the far too many open mic sessions that you can find littered across our beautiful city, where indifferent imitators having watched too many episodes of The Voice perform half-arsed versions of shitty conveyor belt pop songs that means nothing to them, this session is nothing like that. This session showcased proper blues musicians, performing with a palpable passion and an undying need to communicate their message. Some covers here and there, of course, but mostly original songs – all of them performed with heart and soul, and I am lucky enough to have been welcomed into and taken part in it.

To this day, I’m glad I went to that session. It was the first of many and it’s brought me a lot of joy over the years, through providing me with community, family and friendships, a sense of belonging. Still does.

The thing about those unplanned moments of good fortune is that they eliminate the need for any overthinking, so I entered this new world without having had the chance to ruin it for myself before I got there. I was able to be who I really was, instead of putting on one of my many hats to fit in.

The thing about serendipitous moments, though, is that it can be difficult to see them as anything other than a fluke, so when you don’t expose yourself to that world for a long wee while, you sort of forget it exists. You forget the you that exists within that universe. The only time you’re reminded of those good days is through social media, and even then it’s not really real. I mean, the Internet shouldn’t be taken too seriously. Have a look at what’s happening in the world around you, for fuck’s sake.

Anyway. When my phone rang Sunday morning, it was a reminder of how important it can be to nurture those interactions, so you don’t forget about them, those friendships that never feel forced of difficult. The ones that span years, oceans and lifetimes, through which we stay young, unfettered, hungry for life. Because the voice on the other end when I picked up belonged to none other than my old pal from Oz, just back from one of his gigs in his current home of Ontario, Canada.

Or, it could have been Tom Waits that had decided to hack his Messenger and give me a call, I never was able to tell those two apart.

All I know is that, as an added bonus, our brief conversation reminded me of that gem of an album he put out five years ago; Hitchcock Sequel. And, while you’re already on his Bandcamp page, you should check out Ad Nauseam Blues as well.

Nevertheless, that phone call brightened my day. The sound of that voice I’ve not heard “live” in years is more familiar to me than that of an electric car. My comrade and brother from an entirely different mother had decided to check in with me, and it got me thinking about friendships and the simple joys in life, and how I haven’t been great at realising they’re there for me as a source of good when I need to start climbing my way out of my ditch of depression, rather than digging myself down into it, ever deeper.

Perhaps that’s the case for you as well? If so, I think we should both start thinking about those good memories once in a while. When you’re thinking about someone, let them know. Maybe that’s your gut telling you to check up on your pal before they fall into chatbot psychosis, or worse?

Fuck gratitude journals and all that crap – let’s just look up from our pits of despair and smell the sweetness. It’s there, even when you’ve forgotten how it made you feel.

As a token of my appreciation for your making it to the bottom of my ramblings, there’s a link to C.J. Lee’s beautiful 2020 album Hitchcock Sequel in the Spotify link below, and you can click on these words right here to get to a place where you can learn more about this incredible musician. The set image for this post is the front cover of the album. The artwork is by Sean Stanley.

See you next Tuesday, for some fresh ramblings. I am off to investigate how much damage an impromptu trip to Canada would do to my account. Much love.

Australian blues n roots, C.J. Lee, edinburgh, friendship, live music, mental health, Ontario music scene, serendipity, Tom Waits

Tag: friendship

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