When It Just Ends and Nobody Says Why

I met this guy right after I moved to a new city for a new job. I didn’t know a single other person there. We ended up being friends for eight years. At our best, we talked about the most fringe stuff you can imagine, like whether mushrooms came from outer space and gave people who ate them the ability to pick up new perspectives. We talked about new technology, built workout routines together, smoked a lot and let our minds wander. We were nerds through and through. Surface level conversation got boring fast for both of us.

It started slipping when I moved again, this time to another state for a better opportunity. He visited me once with a friend of his, and we had a great time. After that, the texting slowed down. Distance will do that, and he had a baby on the way too. Eventually the texting went from regular to nothing. One day I just stopped getting a response.

We had plans for him to visit again, but I wasn’t feeling well. My illness can be unpredictable like that, so I told him I wouldn’t be available around that time and tried to explain it wasn’t personal. I’m guessing that upset him, though he never actually said so. I realized it was really over when I told him how badly I was feeling, and got nothing back. No response, no concern, no complaint about the money he’d have to eat on the trip, nothing at all. It felt like once he’d gotten what he needed out of the friendship, I stopped mattering.

If someone told me to just let it go, honestly, I’d agree with them. I’ve come to see relationships as a series of events instead of a permanent fixture. Some people stay with you for your whole life. Some people show up for a reason, do their part, and move on. It stung because he was one of the first friends I made in that new city, and I thought we were closer than we turned out to be. Looking back, I think I just didn’t have the self awareness to see he was never going to be around for the long haul.

I never fantasized about running into him to get answers. I’ve landed on the idea that we only really lose the things we’ve stopped finding valuable. Maybe the friendship had run its course for him. Or maybe I’ve got too much ego to admit it bothered me as much as it did. I don’t think that’s actually it though. I’m better off now, and I don’t have any hard feelings toward him. I want good things for him. Sometimes things just don’t work out. Or maybe it did work out exactly the way it was supposed to. He filled a hole I had when I first landed in that city, alone and not knowing anyone. I don’t look back on it as some big tragedy. I’d be lying though if I said it didn’t bother me for a long time.

Not getting closure is what actually helped me deal with it, in a strange way. It forced me to write my own ending instead of waiting for one. That ending can look gloomy, or it can look like something worth celebrating. I chose to remember it as getting through a hard stretch of life with someone who was genuinely fun to be around. I’ve made peace with not knowing why it ended the way it did. Maybe it was something I said or did. Maybe it had nothing to do with me at all.