My Friend
An acquaintance: a person whom one knows but who is not a particularly close friend
—Merriam Webster
This is what we have, and what we call a "friend" or a "brother".
An acquaintance smells like a friend, but isn't. The same way strawberry flavored products are not actual strawberry.
Today we tell ourselves strawberry-flavored is actual strawberry and then believe that lie and then act surprised when reality gives us a reality check.
We should use that word more often, as it's more accurate.
It is from justice to put things where they belong.
Every time we call a passing interaction a "friendship", we commit a small act of injustice. We burden that person with an implicit intimacy they never promised nor agreed to.
That's corruption, which leads to further corruption. Floridity is not generosity, it is gravity, and gravity warps the field around me.
When I dispense "friend" for a casual exchange, I inflate my own currency. The real ones feel the draft where the substance used to be, they can sense the dread of emptiness and hollowness.
Worse, I sign promises my calendar and nervous system cannot cash. Every "my friend" is an implicit vow of priority and presence…they're "my friend"s…aren't they?
I know I write that check daily, but why are there so many "my friend"s coming to collect? Weird!
The acquaintance never asked for that role, I actually imposed it on them without consent, and now they must either play along or correct me, which makes them appear cold, and rude, and all those "horrible" traits. I have painted them into a corner simply because I liked the warmth of the word, I enjoyed the fake intimacy I created around me. It felt real, and people seemed to like it, so I just kept writing more and more blank checks to everyone!
Floridity is a magnet. The starving will mistake my excess for an oasis. I attract more than I can hold, and spend times more energy than I would have spent saying "acquaintance" from the start.
Times more energy than I would have spent if I was just, and real, and grounded.
Perhaps precision is not so bad after all, perhaps I should use it, like a fence. It keeps the pasture healthy for the few who actually belong there, and it keeps the gate from being mistaken for an open invitation. I owe that much to my real ones…wait…do I have those?!
Well, it's not merely about the vocabulary I use, is it? I have way more serious problems causing this.
If only I listened to scholars and got busy with myself, perhaps I would have heard those whispers warning me. I instead suffocated them, because how dare they break my momentum?!