understand - The Archive

Understanding Friendship A quest to understand understanding: What is friendship? Or, more precisely, what does it take to be a friend? I've never considered myself a good friend to anyone. I'd offer help, not necessarily when it was convenient, but when it didn't cost too much, if that makes sense. I suppose I'd evaluate the investment. I might help for days or weeks if I deemed it worthy and if it didn't take away from my family. If I believed it would in any way negatively impact my child or spouse, I'd politely decline, just as I would if I felt the effort wouldn't be productive. At least, that's the picture I have in my head. Now, I look at my wife and children in confusion. They readily immerse themselves in frivolous projects for even the most casual acquaintance. They'll also, at times, undertake long, drawn-out projects with others that bear no fruit, but it never seems to matter to either party—it's just about passing the time, it seems. Sometimes they'll take on every single problem of a new friend as if it were their own, while I watch them put their own necessities on hold or miss important deadlines in their family lives. So, even after decades of observing how differently they all view friendship compared to myself, is there a right or wrong way to be a friend? Or is it simply different, beyond my comprehension? Do I have the right to judge, even in silence? Was I the one who wasn't a good friend? I've had many associates and few friends, by my own definition. I've helped them, and they've helped me. I often wonder if I gave enough. I've always felt I carried a debt if I couldn't return a favor in a timely manner. I also found myself withdrawing from a friendship if I offered assistance on different occasions and was turned down, especially if I felt they had helped me in some way. I don't mean just a few vain attempts; perhaps they simply wanted to do it themselves. I gave it time and offered in various ways. Did they just not need the help? Would it have been more of a distraction than it was worth for them? This is a significant question in my mind. I also enjoyed visiting, but only if there was actual discussion. If there was much of a lull, I felt it was time to redirect my time and would cut the visit short. In contrast, my family all seem content to sit quietly on their phones in the company of outsiders or friends. I deem this different than with family; with family, more time is spent together, and sometimes just being close is okay, but not forever. I placed value on what was given to me—whether advice, company, or a gift—and I felt a "need" to balance the equation to continue the friendship. That's the only thing that makes sense to me. For some reason, I cannot adopt a different perspective on this subject, while on any other subject, it comes easily. Perhaps I'll never fully understand this, but I'd like to. Understanding Social Transactions: The Invisible Economy of Relationships My reflections on friendship naturally lead to a deeper examination of how we engage in what can be called "social transactions"—the often unspoken exchanges of benefits and costs that define our interactions. At the heart of this concept lies Social Exchange Theory (SET), which posits that our relationships are subtly, and often unconsciously, driven by an effort to maximize rewards and minimize costs. For me, this framework resonates strongly. I find myself constantly evaluating the "investment" in a friendship, assessing the rewards I gain—such as "actual discussion," intellectual stimulation, or the practical benefit of mutual help—against the costs, which include time, effort, and even the feeling of unproductive lulls in conversation. My willingness to help is contingent on these costs not being "too much," particularly if they infringe upon my family's well-being. This meticulous calculation of benefit versus burden is a hallmark of my approach. My deep-seated need to "balance the equation" stems from a strong drive for equity in relationships. When I receive a favor, I perceive it as incurring a debt that I feel compelled to return in a timely manner. This isn't about a one-off exchange, but a continuous internal ledger where perceived imbalances create discomfort. Crucially, I don't feel others owe me anything if I help them; my ledger is solely focused on the debt I feel I owe. I understand this is a warped disconnect, but it's how my mind operates. If my offers of assistance are refused, especially by someone I believe I "owe," it leaves an emotional loose end, as the opportunity to balance this personal ledger is denied. This focus on the explicit exchange also shapes my communication preferences, which can be understood through the lens of Transactional Analysis (TA). I gravitate towards what TA calls complementary transactions—where interactions are direct, clear, and involve a mutual exchange of information or support, like a good "actual discussion." When communication deviates, perhaps through crossed transactions (where an unexpected response disrupts the flow), or if there's an unspoken, ulterior transaction at play (where there's a hidden agenda beneath the surface conversation), I find it disorienting or unproductive. The "lulls" in conversation, for me, become a significant "cost" because they lack this direct, purposeful exchange, leading me to "redirect my time." In stark contrast, my family's approach reveals a different set of values within this social economy. Their willingness to immerse themselves in "frivolous projects" or engage in "long drawn-out projects that would bear no fruit" suggests that their perceived "rewards" are less tangible and more intrinsic. The joy of shared experience, the satisfaction of helping without immediate expectation of return, or simply the value of presence and companionship (even when silently engaged with phones) appear to outweigh the apparent costs of time and effort for them. This hints at a reliance on diffuse reciprocity, where the expectation of mutual support is a general, long-term understanding rather than an immediate, specific exchange. Navigating the Nuances: Bridging Gaps and Embracing the Spectrum of Connection Having dissected my own internal ledger of social transactions, and contrasted it with the seemingly divergent approach of my family, the natural next question emerges: How do we reconcile these different models of connection? Is there a path to bridging these gaps, or do we simply learn to navigate a spectrum of understanding where "different" doesn't equate to "wrong"? My personal inclination towards explicit reciprocity and structured interaction stands in contrast to my family's comfort with diffuse reciprocity and shared, often quiet, presence. This difference in "currency" can lead to interesting, sometimes puzzling, dynamics. For instance, when I extend help, my intention is often rooted in a desire to contribute productively or to fulfill my internal sense of obligation. If that help is declined, especially when I feel I owe something, it leaves an emotional loose end. The perception on the other side might simply be "I don't need help right now," or "I prefer to do this myself," completely unrelated to my internal transactional understanding. This disconnect between intention and perception can create silent misunderstandings, making me question if my efforts were truly valued or even desired. Conversely, I observe my family investing time and energy in ventures for acquaintances that bear no tangible fruit, seemingly content with the mere act of being present or offering casual support. For them, the reward isn't about productivity or a clear return, but perhaps the intrinsic satisfaction of connection, or building a general reservoir of goodwill. Their intention might be pure companionship or unconditional support, while my perception might initially categorize it as an inefficient or unbalanced "transaction." This ongoing observation has forced me to confront the idea that the "right" way to be a friend is far from singular. Instead, friendship operates on a vast spectrum of engagement, value, and reciprocity. My more structured, efficient approach, while perhaps appearing "transactional" to some, allows for clear boundaries and a sense of fairness that is deeply important to me. It ensures that my resources, particularly my family time, are protected, and that my contributions are meaningful in a way I can understand. On the other hand, my family's seemingly less calculative approach fosters a different kind of warmth and unconditional presence, which clearly holds immense value for them and for those they connect with. It highlights that rewards can be found not just in tangible returns or stimulating discussions, but in the simple act of shared existence, even in silence. This diverse approach demonstrates the richness of human connection, where some bonds thrive on explicit exchange, while others flourish on a more ambient, unspoken understanding. The challenge, then, lies not in trying to force one model onto another, but in cultivating an awareness of these differing social "currencies." By understanding that others may not operate on the same transactional principles—that their offers of help or their comfort with quiet presence come from a different valuing system—we can begin to bridge the gap between intention and perception. This doesn't necessarily mean abandoning my own internal ledger, but rather expanding my capacity to appreciate and respect the validity of other people's relationship economies. It's about recognizing that what appears as a "cost" or a "lull" to me might be a valuable "reward" or a comfortable "presence" for someone else, and vice-versa. This deeper understanding holds the potential to reduce self-judgment and foster more empathetic, albeit diverse, connections. An Evolving Understanding: Navigating Connection with New Eyes Looking closely at how I approach relationships has brought a lot of clarity to something that used to confuse me. My personal "ledger," where I feel I need to pay back favors, and my preference for conversations with real discussion, are just how I'm wired. While this often feels different from the more relaxed, less "score-keeping" way my family handles friendships, I now see these differences not as flaws, but simply as varied paths within human connection. This new understanding helps me look at past interactions differently and approach future ones with fresh eyes. It lets me be kinder to myself, easing the self-judgment that sometimes came with my internal calculations. More importantly, it gives me a deeper appreciation for the many ways people give and receive in their relationships. My core way of connecting might stay the same, but this new awareness helps me interact with more understanding. I can better grasp why others act the way they do, even if it doesn't fit my immediate idea of friendship. This helps me build connections that respect both who I am and who they are. My journey to truly understand friendship, and my place within it, continues, now with a clearer map of its many valuable currencies.

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