I Will Pay You To Be My Friend

Initially, the headline, “Why Some People Are Paying to Make Friends” puzzled me, but it quickly began making sense. Way back in the day, I remember my brother’s stand on college fraternities, “I’m not going to pay,” he said, “to make friends.” Thereby highlighting the fact that lots of people have been paying to join clubs to make friends for a long time.

It’s also not surprising given this:

“The apps are taking off at a time when about 67 percent of adults have reported social-emotional loneliness, in part because they did not feel part of a meaningful group, according to a 2024 study by the Making Caring Common Project at Harvard. About 45 percent of lonely adults said they ‘don’t really know how to develop close friendships.'”

Those are brutal statistics.

How the apps work:

“The start-ups are meant to remove the strain caused by online dating and other meet-up apps — no profiles to swipe through, no schedules to align, no locations to discuss.

When they sign up, the apps’ tens of thousands of users, typically in their 20s to their 50s, fill out questions related to their background, interests and values. The companies consider unusual criteria like sense of humor, how you like to spend time with friends and if you like meeting people on the other side of the political spectrum.

Once users pick an event off the apps’ calendars, the companies’ algorithms kick into motion. Users are matched with a small group from all the people who signed up — based on characteristics like age and other answers — and told to meet at a predetermined location.”

Obviously, one limiter is affordability. Note, they do not appear to ask if you like meeting people from different economic classes. Also:

“The apps are not always a hit. Some users complain on social media that they did not click with their group or that the experiences can feel awkward and forced.

Alex Cheney, 34, attended several friendship-matching events in cities including Los Angeles — organized by apps like Timeleft, Groupvibe and Kin — over the last two years. But he did not form any meaningful friendships, he said.

‘In terms of building a deep friendship, it’s almost something that you have to explore and co-create and build in real time,’ said Mr. Cheney, who had also tried building a matching algorithm for coffee meet-ups. ‘I don’t necessarily know if it’s something that you can build into a matching algorithm because you might have a lot of compatibility on paper with someone.'”

Say a person doesn’t have an extra $22/month for a friendship app or has it but doesn’t want to pay anything at all? How do they begin building a circle of friends? Or widen their circle? Or deepen it?

Of course I have ideas, but they’re probably not as good as your collective ones.

Bend

I don’t want to write this and you don’t want to read it because it’s depressing as hell and there’s more than enough disturbing news to process. One can only take so much. The end result, we’re desensitized to school shootings. And the more desensitized we become, the more vexing the problem. A downward spiral that must delight the NRA.

I dig Bend, which I visit annually, the last time three weeks ago. Many, many fond memories, mostly of cycling with good friends. And I have acquaintances and friends in Bend who I immediately thought about.

This article left me even more hopeless about solving this problem.

Depressing point one being the most obvious. The tragic loss of such young lives, three students and a 25 year-old teacher who described her Silver Rail Elementary special education teaching job as her “dream job”. With another student and teacher in critical condition.

Depressing point two. The cluelessness and callousness the mother, who allegedly kept an AK-47 in her apartment, demonstrated by saying her “son was a good boy who she seriously missed”. Then saying she was sorry for the families losses had to be completely lost on them and everyone in the community.

And maybe most depressing of all, this quote from the article, describing the school parents’ mindset.

“Now they’re lining up for other ways to help: Meghan Standish, a stay-at-home mom in the neighborhood, said that when she went online to sign up for a meal train to help the family of Rhoam Summer, a 5-year-old killed in the shooting, every night until Christmas was booked.

Beyond looking to help, she was debating other plans as well.

‘I know a lot of friends are interested in getting their concealed carry permits after this,” Ms. Standish said. “I know I am.’”’

More guns. When does it end?

Why Is It So Hard To Make Friends As An Adult?

I recently had elective surgery, that I’m happy to report, went well. I’m 10 days into a six week recovery that currently limits cross-training me to walking. Thus, I’m working through my too-long podcast queue. If you see me looping Capital Lake, say hello, I’ll happily take my AirPods out.

This was a good, recent listen.

It made me think of another one I recently listened to with a real estate expert riffing on the U.S. housing market. His main point, which I’ve heard many real estate experts make before, is that you can’t generalize about the U.S. housing market much at all, because there are significant regional, state, and even city-based differences. Meaning prices are rising in some areas, flat in others, and dropping in still others.

Thompson and Grant seem to be using the U.S. as their frame of analysis, and like real estate, generalizing as much as they do is problematic.

In one way at least, the “friendship recession” is far worse than the rather pessimistic Thompson/Grant conversation would suggest. Specifically, using my former students as a frame of reference, many young adults openly admit that their interpersonal skills have seriously atrophied in recent years given their preference for digital communication. To the point where often IRL interactions create serious social anxiety, to the point where some find it difficult to leave their dorms and venture in the cafeteria, or leave their apartments and mix it up with their peers at all.

Put differently, Thompson/Grant assume the runner is starting on second base, when in fact, if young, he or she may be stuck in the batter’s box. My challenge to them is to identify small steps socially anxious young people might take to begin running towards first base.

On a completely different note, if I use my bubble fair city of Olympia, WA as my frame of reference, I question the premise of a friendship recession. Why? Because, if you look for it, you can’t help but see ample evidence of people connecting while swing dancing at the Eagles or eating lunch on the picnic benches while listening to music at the Farmer’s Market. Not to mention the ever growing number of grassroots small group bicycle rides for people of every ability. Or running groups up the gazoo. Or the Briggs Y Masters swim team (which I’m sure is missing me something terrible right now, right?). Or Rocky Horror bingo. Or a new “literary” community. Or noisy coffee shops and restaurants.

I suspect Thompson/Grant might be extrapolating from their personal experience. And I can’t help but wonder if where one lands on the “friendship recession” depends mostly on what one is looking for? In which case, I will continue to look for and celebrate small quiet examples of friendship and larger, louder ones.

Your friend,

Ron

We’re All Sheep

Because The End of Average was so excellent, I’m imbibing in a second serving of Todd Rose. The thesis of Collective Illusions, subtitle, “Conformity, Complicity and the Science of Why We Make Bad Decisions” is that we don’t think through things independently. In contrast, we take short cuts, mindlessly going along with what we think others in our favored circles think. Often though, because everyone is taking similar shortcuts, we don’t realize there’s not much of a consensus at all. In essence, everyone is just going along to get along.

This insight is not flattering to the point that a lot of readers will likely say to themselves that it doesn’t apply to them. That they are outliers who often think things through independently. And how sad that others aren’t as stalwart.

The examples I kept wrestling with were, oddly given Rose is a professor, mostly absent from the book. That is, a post-modern progressivism that gripped higher education during the end of my career as a professor. Meaning, more specifically, an apparent consensus around repeated land acknowledgements, the delineation of pronouns, and related signals of “withitness” that struck me as oddly performative at times. A land acknowledgement at the beginning of an academic year seems entirely appropriate, and even at commencement as a type of bookend, but repeatedly at the start of every meeting? But I never even whispered that question that was swirling around in my peabrain. I went along to get along. As did many, maybe even most, of my colleagues.

This excerpt from Collective Illusions isn’t directly related to the overarching thesis, but stupefying enough to highlight.

“Many people will even sacrifice something they care about in order to feel comparatively superior to others. In February 1995, researchers asked 257 faculty, students, and staff at the Harvard School of Public Health to answer a set of hypothetical questions about which of the two worlds they would rather live in. Here is one of them:

A. Your current yearly income is $50,000; others earn $25,000.

B. Your current yearly income is $100,000; others earn $200,000.

Prices are what they are currently, and prices (therefore the purchasing power of money) are the same in states A and B.

Which one would you choose?

If You answered A, you were in the 56 percent majority. This choice would allow you to earn more than others, even though scenario B would pay you more overall. For most people, then, feeling superior was more important than making more money.”

What say you?

Whither The (dis)United States?

This morn I should’ve been staring at the black line on the bottom of the pool. Instead, I sampled the paper of record’s “Great Reads” series. In this case, “Depressing Read” would be far more accurate.

The headline will save you ten minutes. “They Argued About Trump at a Dog Park. Then They Pulled Their Guns.” Yes, for some unexplainable reason I read that headline, and then, like the swimmer I shoulda been, dove in.

Just one sampling:

“In the back of the police car and while being booked, he asked four times about the well-being of his dog, Frankie. He did not ask about the condition of the man he had shot.”

Top reader comments:

Depending upon who you are, your socio-economic status, where you live in the (dis)United States, and what content you selectively choose, life is either steadily getting better in the (dis)United States or worse.

Violent crime is way down, yet you can get shot at a dog park. Personal technology makes it far easier to keep in touch with many more people, yet loneliness is on the rise. Despite far less funding for medical research, and a greatly weakened CDC, impressive cutting-edge medical advances continue, extending lifespans.

I’m of two-minds. Due to my economic and related privilege I’m optimistic, but more generally, pessimistic. It’s obvious to me that most people’s lives are not improving anywhere near as much as mine.

Timothy Snyder sees my half-filled glass and empties it.

Two things can be true at the same time. In October, 2026, in the (dis)United States, life can be getting better for the New Aristocracy and future historians will convincingly argue that the world’s preeminent superpower had already begun it’s steady decline.

Postscript. Wonderful antidote to the dog park debacle.

The ‘Secret’ To Happiness 2

Recall the shortest possible answer. “Feeling loved”. That resonants with me.

After Lynn died, I pressed pause, for not nearly as long as my grieving daughters would’ve liked, but I reflected on my life to this extremely sad and disorienting turning point and had an epiphany.

My default tends to be optimism, confidence, and happiness because I’ve been so damn lucky in love.

And as the authors of the aforementioned book explain, feeling loved isn’t just a romantic thing. Why does a parent who gets a tender note of appreciation from their young adult child immediately attach it to their refrigerator? Because it’s a constant reminder that they are loved. Today, two friends who I’m not in regular contact with, both out of the blue, asked me how I’m doing. Making me feel like I matter a wee bit more. Loved, if you will.

Most fundamentally, from the beginning, my mom’s unconditional love convinced me I mattered. That I was lovable. Her affection for me was the single most important source of my well-being until the middle of high school when I fell in love for the first time. After 3.5 years, Cindy dropped kicked me, and shortly thereafter Sally did the same. WAIT, I’m detecting a pattern!

More seriously, I had this overwhelming sense of being loved by my mom, then Cindy, then Sally, then there was, in the grand scheme of things, an incredibly short period of maybe eighteen months where I was adrift, unsure that I was loved much before meeting Lynn who deeply loved me for four decades.

So, for those keeping score at home, I’ve known I’m loved about 97.7% of my life.

The authors of “Feeling Loved” might say that’s less lucky than me being attentive, kind, and caring enough to family, friends, and romantic partners that love has almost always been reciprocated. A boomerang effect.

Both/and I suspect. I have tremendous gratitude for everyone that has loved me and is loving me currently. I will continue doing my best to hold up my end of the seesaw by striving to be more attentive, kind, and caring, so that, in the end, love and well-being prevail.

The ‘Secret’ To Happiness

Home from Belgium, and of this morning, the bod is back on Pacific Standard Time. Welcome new readers from China.

From the paper of record. “What’s the Secret to Happiness? These Researchers Have a Theory.” This piece is an unusually thoughtful rumination on an increasingly popular and illusive phenomenon, happiness. Based on a newish book titled “How to Feel Loved”.

A few key excerpts:

“Sonja Lyubomirsky has been a leading researcher on the science of happiness for decades. And for just as long, people have asked her: What is the secret?

Dr. Lyubomirsky . . . has always chafed at this question. The secret to happiness? How ridiculous and reductive.

When pressed, she told me she tends to say something along the lines of: ‘Connection and relationships. Positive thinking, which includes gratitude. And a sense of control in your life.’

But if she really had to choose one thing, she said, the secret to happiness is “feeling loved.”

Well then, what’s the ‘secret’ to feeling loved?

“Research on love and happiness has tended to focus on the love one feels for others. But . . . what really makes us happy is how much love we feel coming back to us.

People who want to feel more loved tend to take one of two approaches that aren’t necessarily effective. . . : They try to fix themselves (if only I were better, kinder, more attractive, etc.) or they try to fix the other person (if only my partner would finally figure out my love language!).

But if you want to feel more loved . . . don’t focus your energy on trying to change anyone. Instead, change the conversations you’re having.

How?

“In order to feel more loved by others, you must begin by making them feel loved by you, the authors write. And becoming a better listener is one of the most powerful ways to do that.

Many of us think we’re pretty good listeners, Dr. Lyubomirsky said, but really, we’re mostly just waiting for our turn to speak. . . So she recommends adopting a “listening to learn” mind set. Basically, shift your focus from responding to understanding.

‘When someone feels deeply seen, valued, and understood by you, they become more willing, motivated, and even eager to do the same for you,’ the authors write.

But becoming a better listener takes practice. Some simple best practices: Don’t interrupt, Dr. Lyubomirsky said, and don’t offer advice unless the person you’re talking to asks for it.

And ask follow-up questions. Dr. Reis often defaults to three words he said rarely fail: ‘Tell me more.'”

A seesaw, really?

“The authors believe giving and receiving love function together like a seesaw: You lift a person up with the weight of your curiosity and attentiveness — and they do the same in turn.

‘The other side is very important also, to be sharing what’s important to you, to be sharing what you’re concerned about, so it can really become a two-way street.’

Reciprocity isn’t guaranteed, but it is a powerful social norm, . . . We have a tendency to respond with care and kindness to those who show them to us.

What if it doesn’t work?

“Of course, sometimes you can do your best to listen and be open, and the other person gives you zilch in return. If that’s the case — or if you are finding it challenging to muster genuine curiosity — those are signs this isn’t the right relationship to invest a lot of effort and energy in.

‘“’Sometimes we choose the wrong person that we want to feel more loved by,’”’ Dr. Lyubomirsky said.”

I wonder if two related challenges are explored in the book, challenges that inevitably complicate how loved one feels, particularly males.

The first is an inability to “share what’s important to you”. Put more simply, to express one’s feelings. Too often, boys are discouraged from expressing their feelings, then, as men, they struggle to communicate much at all about their inner lives. So the seesaw gets stuck with males feet safely and firmly planted on the ground.

The second is less gender-specific. Many people are convinced that they are way too broken to be loved, let alone deeply. No one ever learns perfect self-compassion or self-love, we’re all prone to be too hard on ourselves. At best, we are works-in-progress.

But it will become obvious that you and I are eminently lovable the more we listen, learn about, and love one another.

Going Against Type

My mom was famously antisocial on planes, which is a bit odd since she was quite personable. She’d literally psych herself up not to talk to her neighbor(s). And she had strategies. Other people in my lineage lean anti-social.

So on my way to London yesterday, I decided to blaze a new path of airplane neighborliness. My next-door neighbor was a young, East Indian man with two phones. Uber courteous when I first sat down, he took my man purse and stowed it for me since there were no seats in front of us. An hour into the flight I dishonored my mom by asking him, “Are you from London?” He smiled and said, “No, I’m from Seattle, but I travel to London frequently for work.”

Definitely the most interesting dude I’ll meet on my two week Euro sojourn. When I told two of my friends that in Heathrow, they were hurt, but I clarified “most interesting new dude”.

Can’t believe I didn’t get his name because I’d love to follow his career. 33 years old. Ohio State grad, but let’s not hold that against him. Got a PhD from Rice University in Oncology at 26. Works for Eli Lilly doing “small and large” drug development deals. Was on his way to Barcelona for a conference.

I knew he had serious science chops when he was familiar with Multiple Systems Atrophy. We talked about Lynn’s passing and his grandfather dying in India right before his 90th birthday. And him, afterwards, moving his parents from Chennai to Lynnwood, WA.

He met his wife when he was 19 and she was 18. Despite him spending the next 10 days in Barcelona, they’re trying to get pregnant. They’re vacationing in Japan in October.

He speaks English, Tamil, Hindi, French, German, Arabic, and Spanish poorly. He learned Arabic while teaching English in Cairo as a part of his high school education.

We bonded in ways my mom would never understand. So much so, when British Airways informed half the plane, him and me included, that our bags didn’t make it on our flight, he felt comfortable bitching about it. “What am I going to wear out to dinner tonight?” First world problem for a high flyer, figuratively and literally.

DDTTM

Second in a possible series of intros of especially loyal PressingPausers.

Full name, Dan Dan the Transpo Man. Dano is retired, but gets more done in a day than Travis or Scottie who allegedly “work” fulltime.

He’s from Minneapolis and has all the classic signs of Upper Midwest niceness—does not swear, prefers music from the 1950s-1970s, has wood tennis racquets in the garage—until a high school referee making $12/hour makes a questionable call against the local team. Then he loses it a bit. Or when the announcer says, “It’s another Olympia first down!” He despises that.

Why the Transpo Man? Because when he was a working stiff, he was in charge of Washington State’s federal highways. Which was fun because other friends and I had someone to vent to as our commutes worsened. He was always so sympathetic to our plight. Not!

Dan is a physical marvel. He runs a few times a week. Really fast for just having turned 69. And walks a few times a week. And hits the Tumwater Stairs really hard every Tuesday morn. And roller blades. And mows his ginormous yard. And goes to Adoration every Friday morning and prays in advance for a miracle for me once I’m at the Pearly Gates.

Start with Minnesota and add a progressive Catholicism and you get one goodhearted, generous dude. The type of dude who saved up his timeshare weeks to take twelve of his closest friends to Hawaii when he retired. The type of dude who returns from Alaska with salmon for everyone. The type of dude who will invite you to his Sunriver casa if you’re lucky. The type of dude who will take delivery of your new car for you when you’re stuck in Colorado.

He’s not perfect though. He still roots for all the sad (sick) Minnesota teams despite having lived in the PNW longer. He insists on using a nickname for your humble blogger mostly because I’ve never liked it. And, in a nod to Catholic brotherhood, he is likely to vote for Vance for President in 2028.

Just kidding on that last one. Dan is as blue as they come. And he’s an activist, writing letters to public officials and postcards to NC voters and even fancying himself a poet at times. An engineer with writing skills, who’d a thunk it?! A true Renaissance Man. And one of the nicest, best friends a guy could ever hope for.

Back in the day. DDTTM on the far right after trouncing Scottie and me.

Sam Miller For The Win

Sam Miller, a comedian from my hometown, Olympia, WA, has lived a few lives. As a comic, he has a lot of momentum, performing before increasingly large crowds.

Speaking of momentum, no family ever sits still. Families are organic, every single one always with some degree of momentum, either positive or negative, based upon the adults’ collective decisions. Often, the momentum is barely perceptible. In Sam Miller’s family’s case, it’s plain as day.

Today, online, he wrote this. I’m guessing he pounded it out, not overthinking it. But lo’ and behold, it couldn’t be more profound.

“One time my dad picked me up and threw me off a dock into the cold waters of the Strait of Juan de Fuca. There was no warning. Before I realized what was happening, I was airborne. I hit that water, and even though I was a good swimmer, it was hard to peel my elbows from my side. I wanted to stay curled up in a ball but I also wanted to breathe and so I swam back to the dock. My dad’s hand came down and pulled me out. I don’t remember what time of year it was, but I just looked it up. Temperatures in the strait of Juan de Fuca hover between 41 and 54°.

He told me he did it because we spent a lot of time fishing the Straits. He wanted me to know what it would be like to fall off the boat or off the dock. That way I would know what that water felt like and I wouldn’t panic.

I thought I did something wrong. I thought he was angry. He told me he wasn’t. I believed him then. I don’t believe it now. I think he got angry and he lost control and he threw me off that dock because my dad was really bad at dealing with his emotions.

I bring this up because I just spent 8 days with my kids and my mom on a vacation/comedy tour. There were multiple moments where I became incredibly frustrated. There was a couple moments where I was just downright angry. I feel like I had really good reason to be angry a couple times.

I’m really proud to report that I did not yell or scream or pick anybody up and throw them.

I know it’s not true, but I used to think me and my family was cursed. My dad died when I was a kid. I don’t know too much about how he grew up because he didn’t talk about it that much but I know my grandma on my dad’s side had schizophrenia. When my dad and his brother were kids, she drove them to Long Beach, California from Salem, Oregon and just dropped them off in the middle of nowhere. My dad had to hitchhike back while taking care of his kid brother. Pretty sure my dad was 12 or 13 when that happened.

What I’m getting at is this…

I have such an opportunity today to do better and I’m so grateful that I have the tools to keep trying.

I’m a pretty good dad, I’m a pretty good husband, and I’m even a pretty good son now. It’s hard but it feels really good. There are times I wish I could throw people off docks.

but…

I don’t think I ever would. It’s not fair to them and it’s not fair to me. Whatever curse my family had, I’m going to try to keep doing the work to make it stop with me. I owe it to the people that I love and most of all I owe it to myself.”

“I’m going to try to keep doing the work to make it stop with me.” Amen, brother.