It’s hard to strike the right balance between permeability and resoluteness. You can’t be too rigid and stubborn: that’s the surest way to lose people. But you also can’t be too porous: make room for everyone, and you won’t have space for what truly matters.
There are people I will always make time for because I consider them integral to my life, either we’ve known each other a long time or have just met and have a lot of chemistry. Then, there are people I know I will never see again (on the train, at the bar counter, waiting in line somewhere) but might still enjoy their company for however long we have. Between these two poles are encounters that are neither committed nor transitory. Lately, I’ve been trying to figure out why some of these interactions feel confusing at best.
I appreciate when people are explicit about their intentions. Unfortunately, adults are terrible at this. I remember on the first day of fifth grade, I turned to the girl sitting next to me, having barely introduced ourselves, and asked, “Wanna be friends?” The funny thing is, I remember this being something totally normal to ask: I did it at my last school and the school before that. But this was the first time that I felt embarrassed afterwards because it suddenly seemed “uncool” to ask, because friendships are supposed to happen organically. You’re not supposed to ask for it.
But looking back, I can appreciate the clarity of my desires as a child and the intentionality with which I pursued them. Up until a certain age, it feels natural to just ask for what you want from someone. The older you get, the more painful rejection becomes, and so we learn to be oblique about our desires and hide our motivations, sometimes, even from ourselves.
I.
I met someone at a potluck who messaged me a few weeks later to hang out. I agreed and suggested inviting his friend whom I also met at the potluck (the three of us talked for most of the night). He immediately corrected my misunderstanding by saying that he was asking me out on a date, but if that wasn’t what I wanted, he’d understand. I remember feeling extremely grateful that he was direct about his intentions instead of just going along with it. Because if you already know what you want from someone, why would you allow any room for misunderstanding? That’s inviting a kind of complexity that serves no purpose but to bring you disappointment and dissatisfaction.
After we cleared the air, he stopped messaging me. We’re pretty much strangers now, and I can respect his decision to disengage. He chose the simplest path forward. It was easy for him, easy for me. There was no ambiguity about what each of us wanted.
II.
Now, imagine you go on a few dates with someone and realize that despite liking certain qualities about them, they’re not the type of person you see yourself with. So you tell them. But they still want to “stay in touch,” whatever that means. You agree because you’ve already hurt them and don’t want to hurt them again.
So a month goes by, and this person pops into your messages once in a while to ask how you’re doing and suggest grabbing a drink, catching up. Some people are totally fine with this. Maybe they enjoy the person’s company or like the feeling of being around someone who finds them attractive.
Other people find it uncomfortable to interact with someone they’ve rejected because they’re constantly reminded that the person wants something from them that they’re unable to give. They feel burdened: are they sticking around, hoping I’ll change my mind? Suddenly, the other person’s intentions become nebulous. Unless they were friends before they dated or mutually agree to be just friends, it feels simpler to part ways.
There’s no right or wrong way, but you can see how this situation is more complicated than the first where both people are clear about their intentions.
III.
Muddier, still: Let’s say you meet someone who seems interested in you and makes an effort to talk to you, but you’re unsure if their interest is romantic or platonic, and you also don’t know how you feel about them (potential friend, more than a friend, neither?).
Sometimes, even if I’m not immediately attracted to someone, I could be convinced to go on a date and explore the possibility of a connection, but in order for that to happen, the other person has to make their intentions clear, that is, they have to ask me out on a date or otherwise demonstrate romantic interest.
But if they don’t—if we hang out and it’s still unclear what they want—after some time, I’m going to lose interest. You can’t sit on a fence forever. At some point, you’re either going to fall on one side or the other because indecision is also a choice. If there’s no obvious friendship connection either, then I begin to question if there’s any point in continuing to engage.
*
Our time is finite, and we need to draw boundaries somewhere. The curse of being an open-minded, adaptable human being is that you can easily stretch yourself and say “yes.” Sometimes, it’s good to get out of your comfort zone, but in order to say “yes” to the experiences that are truly enriching, that you actually enjoy, you also need to say “no,” and sometimes that means saying no to things that seem fine.
Here are the scenarios in a matrix (I combined the bottom two into Scenario 3):
always enjoyed reading ur writing 🩵💛
:) thank you, i enjoyed reading this