25. Weed out the old, make way for the new

This isn't really an age thing, but for me it's been true that only time and experience have given me the ability to make better choices. That goes with who I choose to be friends with, and who I choose to end friendships with. The latter is always painful, even if the friendship has already begun to drift off and you don't feel the loss as much as you would have when your lives were more entwined. Still, there's heartbreak involved. Teary talks and steadfast denial.

When I was younger, friendships were quick to develop. No need to define them by mutual interests or shared values. Simply, you're cool and you'll do. If we could laugh and share boyfriend stories and get into clubs, that was enough. We were besties (no, that word wasn't used then and I don't use it now. I just couldn't resist).

As I got older, particularly when I had my son, friendships were based on proximity (sad to say), whether our babies got along (and later toddlers, kids, pre-teens...), and if we could stand each other for the attention span of our children. Miraculously, I've made some incredible friends that way - friends I know will be lifelong, who I check in with on a regular basis and share intimate details of my life.

I've always been good at meeting people and striking up acquaintances. Some of them have been lasting, some not. I have a large group of friends, and most of them I have a history with. A few I've known for less than five years but most, for much longer than that.

Ending a friendship is an awful thing to do, really. All of my issues come up. Issues of failure, of not having done enough or having done too much. I was distant. I was needy. I was critical. I was a doormat. Everything I feel when ending a romantic relationship (is there a better term for that?) comes up when ending a friendship. When my friendships have ended, it's mostly been with a little drama and a lot of resistance.

A few years ago, a 20 year friendship ended. This was one of those friends I mentioned earlier where the foundation was laid because we worked together and both liked to go out to clubs and look at cute boys. Within a month, she'd moved into my one bedroom apartment in the East Village (with no bedroom door and the bathtub in the kitchen). We managed to stay friends for years. I moved to L.A., had a baby, moved to Austin, moved back. She helped me move to L.A. the first time, in fact, driving across the country with me (though she had no driver's license) and putting up with my insane ("I need to be there in three days!") schedule. She was in Austin to ring in the New Year a couple of months after I arrived there in 2001-2002. She was a staple. Always there. She was the first and only person to have given me a nickname (which of course everyone knows needs to be earned and never given to yourself, but that's an entirely different post).

Ultimately, our undoing was work. A project. A misunderstanding. There was money involved. There's a reason for the cliche, "Never mix business with pleasure." Rarely does that have a good ending.

Now, another friendship has come to an end. We haven't talked about it, and we may not. I was her "foul weather" friend; the friend she came to in her darkest moments, the friend who heard all of her secrets. I was the priest in the confessional, in a sense. Recently, her life changed. She got away from her bad situation and I stopped hearing from her. A few weeks ago, we had an awkward phone conversation and some even more awkward emails, and it occurred to me that I didn't need to repair this. I didn't want to repair this. I could make a good choice for myself - walk away from something that makes me feel bad.

As minor as it may seem, it was a revelation to me.

I can choose who my friends are, sure. But, equally as important, I can choose who my friends aren't.