Welcome to **THE 10th EDITION** (she loves a milestone) of Bootleg Therapy: an advice column for wayward hearts. Think of me as your virtual stranger at the bar with a raspy voice and a weird scar on their cheek. The truth is in the worm at the bottom of the mezcal bottle. Submit your questions anonymously on brokebutmoisturized.com for a chance to be featured.
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Horse Girl
What would you say is the “cut off” point for a friendship? Do you prefer to let a dying friendship slowly dissipate or attempt to communicate with the other individual about how you feel and see if they adjust their behavior to potentially make the friendship better (if it’s even worth it)? Thanks!
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Dear Horse Girl,
Are you familiar with the writings of Gen Z prophet for the terminally online, Rayne Fisher-Quann? She has a very popular Substack called internet princess that you should check out—namely, this piece called “no good alone.” (I subtly linked this in the last column, but its application here is too pertinent to leave out.)
In “no good alone,” RFQ explores cut-off culture and the prevailing wave of self-isolation. She writes:
The social standard this culture offers is one of controlled, placated solitude. Its narrative often insists that you’re surrounded by toxic people who are trying to hurt you, and the only way to ever become the person you’re meant to be is to cut them all off, retreat into a high-gloss cocoon of talk therapy and Notion templates, and emerge a non-emotive butterfly who will surely attract the relationships you’ve always deserved — relationships with other “healed” people, who don’t hurt you or depend on you or force you to feel difficult, taxing emotions. And finally, your life will be as frictionless and shiny as you, alone, have always deserved for it to be.
Now, you haven’t given me much context to work with here. But to describe your friendship as “dying,” and suggest that the other party should “adjust their behavior to potentially make the friendship better,” I can deduce that you feel like you’re on the receiving end of pain. You think letting the friendship fizzle out might make life “as frictionless and shiny as you, alone, have always deserved it to be.”
My question for you is this:
Would you pick them up from the airport?
Not out of guilt, or fear of bad karma.
Would you pick them up from the airport because despite the inconvenience, and despite how fucking confusing it is to figure out where the ride share pick-up is versus the normal cars versus the buses and you’ve done it before and they always come out the wrong exit and you have to do a loop around the world’s dumbest road, and despite the million better ways you can think of spending 90 minutes of your day, it would hurt you more to imagine them dropping $60 on some sad, impersonal Uber ride that reeks of Newports and Black Ice air fresheners?
The airport represents so much of the human experience. Morning beers that feel like quitting your job, all liberating and rebellious and ill-timed. The gratitude that swells when a tall, strong someone helps you stuff your carry-on into the overhead compartment. Miserable delays, disgusting bare feet, the rogue farter, fuck it’s all too real!
But most importantly, airports are limbo—the in-between of where we were and where we’re going—much like the current state of your friendship. And what matters now is determining whether yours is the face they’ll see upon reaching their destination. Whether you can be a home for them.
So let me ask you another, less metaphorical question—perhaps the only question any of us should lean on in these one-foot-out-the-door moments:
Is there still love there?
Let’s not confuse love with time. How many years we’ve known someone doesn’t nullify cold indifference.
Let’s not confuse love with attachment. Commonality doesn’t magically sprout from fear of loss, or loneliness.
Let’s not confuse love with guilt. Perhaps the worst reason to keep someone in your life is that you’d feel bad leaving them—kind of like the worst reason to pick someone up from the airport or do anything for them, really, is because you’d feel bad not to.
When I ask if there’s still love there, I mean do you feel it in the cosmic depths of your soul that what you share with this person is irreplaceable? Do you have the same values, or moral code? When you laugh together, does it come from a place so private and ethereal it makes you wonder if god coded you the same? Could you call this person in a bind? Could they call you? Does their perfume live in the fibers of a t-shirt they borrowed that one time they crashed on your couch during the breakup? Do they bring you ramps from the farmer’s market knowing they’re your favorite and the season is short and unpredictable?
… Would you pick them up from the airport?
My friend Katie and I have been through it together. We got into a series of misunderstandings two years ago that left us both bitter, feeling mistreated by the other. Every conversation was eggshells. This, of course, is not sustainable, and eventually I did the only thing that seemed beneficial to both of us: I gave up. I told her I felt like we weren’t on the same page anymore and that space from each other, whether temporary or indefinite, was the only solution.
There was nothing remarkable about our time apart. Sure, I felt like I “stood up for myself” and was “free” of something, but I also felt like an unforgiving asshole. I felt like I’d gone against something I believe in, which is damn near unlimited grace in friendships so long as there’s still love there. And I knew in my heart there would always be love there for Katie. God coded us the same.
A few months ago, Katie and I reconnected. She invited me over for dinner. In our time apart, she bought a house and got a second dog and fell in love. We had a lot to catch up on. At some point, over salmon and roasted artichokes, we both started crying. Whatever animosity still lingered between us totally dissolved. We were two flawed people who loved each other. All we could do was move forward.
Katie and I’s friendship looks a little different these days, but who we are together is still the same. And because we know what’s at stake, I suspect we’ll always talk it out before we ever consider throwing in the towel again.
So, to answer your question. What’s the cut-off point for a friendship?
Probably when all love is lost. Probably when you wouldn’t pick them up from the airport.
Very good perspective on this. I would venture that the person has not established what type of relationship they want to have. Some friendships are very active and others stretch over decades. I have traveled over land and sea for some friends. Time and distance were nothing.
This is great.
This made me think of two times in my life.
1. My truck broke down at 2 am and I called a friend and woke him up and asked if he would pick me up from about two hours away. And he did. And he wasn't event that close of a friend and actually a bit of a dick.. but he did that. And even though I didn't really like him, I forced myself to be his friend.
2. I locked myself out of my apartment in NY , on Fulton - next to Wall Street. Hammerd drunk at 3 am. Winter, three feet of snow and growing 2007 . Called a new friend who lived in Long Island if he would bring the spare key and let me in.
He did. I was fucked with gratitude.
I have now taken friendship in life entirely based on how nice people are to me. And that's it.
I dont care how much of "Loser" you are. I believe we are only as valuable as we can help others.
On that note - your Substack is definatly helping people :) From the Comments - I think people love your help :)