free

to dislike and be disliked

John Bratby, Sunflowers, 1969

As kids, we were taught to play nice, to try to get along with everyone. If your parents throw you a birthday party, you invite everyone in the class. God forbid any kid should feel left out. From childhood through my early twenties, I referred to everyone I met as “a friend” by default, even if we only ever spoke once or twice. The term was tossed about loosely. When we’re young, we hold expansive definitions of friendship. With experience, we become more discerning.

Five months ago, I met someone at a party in Brooklyn, and since we lived near each other, we shared an Uber home and had a pleasant conversation that dipped into serious topics like our life goals, our romantic relationships, starting families. She was so different from me, much more of a rationalist, and I was intrigued by her wide interests. I was very open to becoming friends, but in subsequent interactions, it became clear the feelings weren’t mutual. At first, I thought I must’ve offended her. I thought, “Oh god, she hates me for that comment I made.” But then I realized I was being ridiculous. It’s entirely possible for her to like me as a person without wanting any kind of meaningful relationship. Friendship takes intentional effort and work. It’s not the default.

Over the course of our lives, we encounter many people. With some, we click instantly. With others, it’s a slow burn. Once in a while, you might meet someone you don’t like. They’re not necessarily a bad person. Maybe their personality clashes with yours. You don’t feel comfortable being yourself around them. In this season of your life, you want less of their energy. Similar to dating, friendship is also about timing and chemistry.

It took me a while to accept this because I grew up believing that it was not O.K. to dislike anyone I knew personally. It was drilled into me that if I judged people too harshly I wouldn’t have any friends. Consequently, I felt like I needed a really good reason to not like someone. And if I didn’t like someone, it was because there was a problem that had to be fixed: either they were wrong or I was wrong (for being too judgmental). This is a false dichotomy.

Accepting people for who they are means recognizing that everyone is different. You can accept someone for who they are without negating yourself. You can accept someone for who they are and also accept that you don’t like them. No one needs a justifiable reason. The more you interrogate your reasons, the more you ruminate, the worse you feel.

Just as we have the right to dislike others, the converse is also true: we have the right to be disliked.

[Being disliked by other people] is proof that you are exercising your freedom and living in freedom, and a sign that you are living in accordance with your own principles […] Before being concerned with what others think of me, I want to follow through with my own being.

The Courage to be Disliked, Ichiro Kishimi and Fumitake Koga

I gravitate toward people who have a really clear sense of self. That doesn’t mean they have everything figured out. It just means they embrace who they are, including their sharp edges. They’re not trying to be liked by everyone. They’re not desperate for acceptance. They fly their flag and look for people who can meet them where they are.

In Season 5 of Yellowstone, John Dutton says, “I got one child I miss. One child I pity. One I regret. But that girl, that child I envy.” He’s referring to his daughter, Beth Dutton, and if anyone knows anything about Beth, it’s that she’s a free spirit. Scathing, spiteful, downright vicious—but free. She oozes herself, and that’s what we love about her. You take it or leave it. She doesn’t like many people, but she’s intensely loyal to those she loves. The child her father envies is the one who is deeply flawed but unapologetically herself.

If we’re nice to everyone, we won’t truly embrace our authentic selves. I want my actions and reactions to be genuine. I love the freedom of being able to stand in my skin and say, this is who I am, this is what I think, this is how I feel. More than ever, I value being authentic and intentional with my relationships. I’ve become allergic to disingenuousness.

So when is it worth it to raise a conflict with someone? I think it’s always worthwhile to advocate for yourself, to validate your own opinions and feelings. But advocating for yourself doesn’t always have to take the form of productive conflict. If I have an issue with my partner or my friends (or if they have an issue with me), I will put in the emotional labor to get to a better place with them. But if it’s not a relationship I want to invest in, I’ll walk away. Setting boundaries is another way of advocating for yourself.