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.

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

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.

‘Women Are Over It’

The New York Times reports, “Older Adults Are No Longer Staying in ‘Empty-Shell’ Marriages“.

Key stat.

“Rates of ‘gray divorce’ — splits among those 50 and older — have risen sharply in the United States, doubling between 1990 and 2010. Though those rates have stabilized since the pandemic, nearly 40 percent of divorces today occur between people 50 and older.”

Key definition.

“‘Empty-shell marriages’ are ones in which there is no real connection or vitality, where one or both partners are not happy. . .”

The key reasons according to Justin Garcia, the executive director of the Kinsey Institute in Bloomington, Ind., and the author of The Intimate Animal: The Science of Sex, Fidelity, and Why We Live and Die for Love.

“’We as a species are in longer relationships than our ancestors ever were,’ he said. ‘Lifelong monogamy maybe meant a few decades.’ Now, though, there are couples who have been together for 50, 60 or even 70-plus years.

‘That is evolutionarily unprecedented for our species,’ Dr. Garcia said.

At the same time, societal expectations for what marriage can or should be have changed. Baby boomers who got married relatively young — in part because that was simply the norm — are now living through a time when marriage is seen as a vehicle for love and self-actualization, said Claire Kamp Dush, a professor of sociology at the University of Minnesota.

‘We’re not just partnering based on this idea that someone’s going to be the breadwinner and someone’s going to be the homemaker,’ she said. It is possible, she added, that our collective tolerance for staying in just a so-so relationship ‘is going down.'”

RX from the Bay Area, commented, “. . . it’s mostly because women are over it.”

Three other top commenters point to an uneven and unfair division of labor as a key catalyst for calling it quits after decades of being together.

Because the author of the piece only used heterosexual examples, and the author and top commenters focused almost exclusively on unfair workloads, we end up with what feels like a relatively simplistic understanding of “gray divorce”.

For example, the author of the piece references, and the top commenters repeatedly emphasize, that women want to finally be free of caring for their male partners while men who divorce tend to remarry, often quite quickly, because “men need to be taken care of”.

Classic painting with a broad brush. “Some” men, even “many men” would be a much better way to word that.

Let’s consider a counter example. Your fave blogger. At first glance, your fave blogger’s decision to begin dating someone three months after his beloved wife died, after 38 years together, might be further proof of men being woefully dependent upon someone to cook and clean for them. Because, as the female author and top commenters seem to think, men can’t cook and clean for themselves.

Sigh. I don’t know how much depth to go into here, with respect to sharing with you dear reader my rationale for deciding to date before learning it was way, way before my daughters were ready for it. But suffice to say, my rationale had nothing to do with being taken care of. Nothing. Nada. Zilch. Not to brag, but I can hold my own in the kitchen and I will out clean you. Just sayin’.

How ’bout a four-word summary of what could be a four thousand word explanation. I began dating because I sought emotional connection. Which is one word more than it takes to say I was lonely. Weirdly, the concept of emotional intimacy is completely skirted around in the article and top comments.

A friend and I have been sparing a bit on the topic of the patriarchy. Often while hiking. This will surprise no one. I’m losing. She runs circles around me on the topic because she thoughtfully articulates the negative consequences of the patriarchy on men. A key point that too many feminists gloss over. In particular, she correctly points out that entrenched patriarchal norms make it very difficult for men to develop much, if any, emotional intelligence. Without which, emotional intimacy is a non-starter.

Despite some countervailing evidence, most men can learn to vacuum and load and unload dishwashers. And pick up their underwear. Much, much more easily than they can learn to communicate about their inner lives. And much, much more easily than they can learn to tap into their partner’s innermost thoughts and feelings.

I am not an expert and any reader of the female persuasion correct me if I’m wrong about what follows.

I have a strong hunch that many women would like to have their partners do a load or ten of laundry and make them dinner and clean up afterwards, but what every woman would love, especially in empty-shell marriages, is the opportunity to talk about each other’s inner lives in as vulnerable and patient and regulated a manner as possible. So as to feel safe, to feel seen, to feel loved unconditionally. And then to reciprocate. Over and over. For however many years are left.


In The Presence Of Company And Snacks

What has the post-‘rona world wrought? People connecting. Hell yeah.

Patricia Marx in The New Yorker:

“When my editor asked whether I’d be interested in writing about the growing trend of friends getting together to tackle to-do lists, I thought, “Sounds about as fun as a group root canal.” I e-mailed back, “YES!” It was February; I hate the cold; the research would take place indoors. Also, I figured, it might take a village to make me get that comptroller form notarized, memorize the map of South America (don’t ask), and write my will—an item on my list for eighteen years. (As for to-do-list items that never die, thirty-three years ago, the agenda of a friend of mine included: No. 1, get my figure back; No. 2, dance lessons . . . No. 8, figure out if I should break up with Tim; No. 9, leave Tim. Not his real name, because my friend is still wondering about divorcing him.)

Everyone, it turns out, has a lot of shit to do, and many find the drudgery easier to slog through in the presence of company and snacks. Over the course of two months, I sat in on eight Admin Nights, as these gatherings are often called. (“Are they, like, fossils of extinct mollusks?” a hedge-fund guy at a dinner party asked me, thinking of ammonites.) There was a meetup of young mothers who had a lot of children’s birthday parties to organize, a group of Gen Z-ers whose morning session had a live soundtrack provided by a d.j., and a group of people with A.D.H.D., based mostly in Australia, who meet regularly on Zoom. At the Women in Games get-together, a seven-year-old attendee, brought by her mother, marvelled that grownups have homework, too.”

This morning, on the way to Masters swim practice at the Y, I saw three women running shoulder to shoulder on the Henderson Rd sidewalk by Olympia High School. They were not fast, at all, but that’s irrelevant. They had found each other, agreed to meet up, and were clearly vibbing, talking through who knows what. Simultaneously improving their physical and mental health.

And props for your introverted humble blogger for livening up Masters by asking the women in Lane 3, “Do you know the Masters swim team secret?” Looking perplexed, they repeated, “Masters swim team secret?” “Yeah, this lane has the best technique.” They were touched and proudly added their lane was also the most jovial. Five women connected, happier together, living fully.

Maybe I shoulda started this out by writing . . . some people connecting. Social anxiety shows no sign of abating. And we’re way less likely to see our lonely, socially anxious neighbors struggling to find connection. Because often, they can’t even leave their homes.

Here’s to celebrating connection while continuously extending the circles of friendship we’re lucky enough to enjoy.

Miss Kaninna You Are Very Loud, Very Very Loud

You have problems, I have problems. But my greatest problem right now is way worser than yours. I’m seriously undertrained for next week’s circumnavigation of San Diego County.*

So today I did what most anyone would do when unprepared for a big exam, I crammed. In the form of a hard session on an indoor bike at the Plum Street Y. With a coach.

When I ride indoors I just can’t replicate the intensity of trying to keep up with ADub when he attacks at the bottom of one of his fave south Thurston County climbs. Or when BBuck does his patented two mile pulls. Or when MGriffin dials up his diesel on the flats and I’m doing everything in my power not to lose his wheel. Or when TMAT hits SkateCreek, turns, and says, “Get lost loser.”

But today, thanks to my coach, Miss Kaninna, I was able to dial it up. Puddles of sweat thanks to Miss Kaninna, a rising Australian First Nations singer-songwriter and rapper known for blending hip-hop, soul, and punk.

Over the ear headphones were on full Miss Kaninna blast. As a result, I was producing Tadej Pogačar-like watts. I listened to enough tracks to develop a theory on why she continues to fly way under the radar.

There are three recurring themes in her lyrics. The first is aboriginal history and institutional racism which she hits way harder/better than egghead academics. The second is sexually explicit stuff that is just part and parcel of a young rapper’s art. The third is where the problem lies. In terms of Miss Kaninna crossing over to the (dis)USA in particular. There is a strong ACAB element to her lyrics. More to the point, my cycling coach raps about killing police. Do I need to say I don’t condone that?

For American concert producers that has to be a non-starter. My guess is Miss Kaninna is fine playing to and for her own people.

Personally, I dig half of Kaninna’s lyrics and ALL the beats. Introducing my cycling coach, Miss Kaninna.

  • You’re right, I will ride into shape right around the penultimate day. :)