There’s something rather wonderful about getting older. You become more comfortable in your own skin, a little less concerned with what everybody else thinks and, if you’re fortunate, considerably better at recognising which relationships genuinely add something to your life. With years comes wisdom, as they say. Although I do think it would have been rather considerate if some of that wisdom had arrived without requiring quite so much practical experience. A short handbook in my twenties would have been perfectly sufficient!
One thing I’ve become increasingly aware of over the years is the difference between a friend who genuinely wants the best for you and someone who seems to find your happiness, achievements or enthusiasm faintly inconvenient. I’m not talking about somebody who occasionally disagrees with you, questions a decision or tells you that an idea is terrible. Frankly, we all need friends who can do that. I certainly wouldn’t want to surround myself with people who nodded enthusiastically at every questionable decision I made. That would be less a friendship group and more an exceptionally accommodating board of directors, presumably with a generous expenses policy.
I’m talking about something much subtler. The friend who always seems to find the negative angle when you share something exciting. The backhanded compliment that starts promisingly before taking an unexpected turn. The person who appears remarkably well informed about everything you’re doing but is mysteriously unavailable when there’s something worth celebrating. You could announce that you’d won the lottery and somehow find yourself discussing the administrative burden of completing the claim form.
When encouragement comes with conditions
Have you ever told someone about something you’re genuinely excited about, only to find yourself feeling slightly deflated by the end of the conversation? Perhaps you’ve mentioned a new project, an opportunity or something that’s gone particularly well, and rather than sharing your excitement, the other person immediately identifies everything that could go wrong. Or perhaps there’s barely any reaction at all, followed by a surprisingly detailed interest in what you’re doing, how you’re doing it and what might happen next.
Of course, not everyone expresses enthusiasm in the same way. Some people are naturally reserved, some are distracted and others simply aren’t particularly demonstrative. A quiet response isn’t evidence of resentment, any more than a missed Instagram like is grounds for convening a tribunal. We’d all be in rather serious trouble if it were, particularly those of us who occasionally forget to reply to messages while simultaneously remembering to order coffee beans.
The interesting part is when you begin noticing the same response repeatedly, across different situations and over time. There’s a difference between somebody who occasionally fails to respond as you’d hoped and somebody who consistently seems unable to share in your happiness. One disappointing conversation is hardly grounds for a full relationship audit. A recurring pattern, however, might justify a little closer examination.
I think one of the most revealing signs can actually be a change in your own behaviour. You might find yourself becoming more selective about what you tell someone, mentioning a new project only once it’s well established or choosing to share your good news with somebody else entirely. Not because you’re being secretive, but because you’ve gradually learned that certain conversations leave you feeling less excited than you did before having them.
That raises a rather interesting question: if you instinctively hesitate before telling someone something good, what has taught you to hesitate?
When comparison gets involved
I do think comparison plays a part in some of these dynamics. We live in a world where it’s remarkably easy to see what everybody else is doing, achieving, buying, building and celebrating. Social media has effectively provided us with a constantly updated catalogue of other people’s lives, which is very convenient if you’ve ever felt that your own accomplishments weren’t being subjected to enough unnecessary scrutiny.
My observation is that people who feel dissatisfied with aspects of their own lives can sometimes find another person’s success uncomfortable. Instead of seeing somebody else’s achievement as something to celebrate, they experience it as a reminder of what they feel they haven’t achieved themselves. Social media probably doesn’t help. It’s difficult enough keeping up with your own life without conducting an informal quarterly performance review of everybody else’s.
Sometimes that comparison is conscious. Often, I suspect, it isn’t. Most of us have probably experienced a moment of envy at some point, and I don’t think that automatically makes someone a terrible friend. You can be genuinely pleased for somebody while privately wishing something similarly lovely would happen for you. The two feelings can coexist perfectly well, provided you don’t make the other person responsible for resolving your disappointment.
What matters is what you do with the feeling. You can acknowledge it and still celebrate somebody else’s good news, recognising that another person’s success doesn’t diminish your own opportunities. Alternatively, you can allow comparison to turn into little criticisms, dismissive comments and a recurring need to take the shine off somebody else’s achievements. Sometimes people try to close the gap between where they are and where somebody else appears to be, not by lifting themselves up, but by pulling the other person down. It’s certainly one approach, although I can’t imagine it offers particularly impressive long term results.
We can’t know for certain what’s motivating another person’s behaviour, of course, and I don’t think we particularly need to. Trying to establish whether somebody is secretly jealous, insecure or simply having a bad week can become an exhausting investigation, especially when the principal witness is unlikely to volunteer anything useful. At some point, you have to consider whether the enquiry is actually improving your life or merely generating additional paperwork.
Constructive challenge leaves you clearer. Diminishment leaves you smaller.
A genuinely good friend doesn’t have to agree with everything you do. In fact, I’d be slightly suspicious of a friendship in which every idea was greeted with unqualified enthusiasm. Sometimes the most valuable thing somebody can do is tell you that you’re overlooking something, making a mistake or about to embark on a course of action that deserves a little more consideration. If I announce that I’m planning to open a restaurant despite having no experience in hospitality and a fairly limited tolerance for people being rude about dinner, I’d hope somebody might raise a few practical questions.
There’s a world of difference, however, between somebody challenging your thinking and somebody chipping away at your confidence. A constructive friend might question your plans because they can see a difficulty you haven’t considered. They’ll explain their reasoning, listen to yours and ultimately respect that the decision belongs to you. Even if they disagree with your choice, they’re still capable of being delighted when things work out.
Someone who consistently diminishes you tends to leave you with a different feeling altogether. Their criticism rarely seems to help you make a better decision. It simply makes you less confident about making one. The conversation may begin with your excitement about a new opportunity and end with you wondering whether you should perhaps remain exactly where you are, avoid unnecessary ambition and take up a less controversial hobby.
That distinction applies well beyond friendships. We encounter people in professional environments, family relationships and everyday life who challenge us in ways that help us grow. We also encounter people whose contributions seem disproportionately focused on identifying why something won’t work, why an achievement isn’t particularly impressive or why our enthusiasm might be misplaced. There’s a difference between someone offering a useful risk assessment and someone who seems to have appointed themselves Head of Reasons Not To Bother.
The uncomfortable truth is sometimes exactly what we need to hear. The important question is whether the criticism is helping us think more clearly or simply making us feel smaller.
The curious case of the enthusiastic observer
There’s another dynamic I’ve noticed over the years that I find particularly interesting: people who seem extraordinarily interested in what you’re doing without appearing especially pleased about any of it.
They may follow your activities closely, ask detailed questions or remain remarkably well informed about your latest developments, yet genuine encouragement seems rather less forthcoming. It’s almost as though an unofficial intelligence department has been established, complete with ongoing monitoring and regular information gathering, but the congratulations department has apparently been closed due to budgetary constraints.
I wouldn’t suggest that everybody who quietly follows someone’s life is secretly harbouring ill will. Plenty of people observe without commenting, particularly online, and there’s nothing inherently wrong with that. Some of the kindest people are also the least publicly demonstrative. We can’t reasonably require everyone to issue a formal statement of congratulations every time somebody uploads a photograph of a new coat.
The distinction is the broader relationship. Are they interested in you as a person, including your happiness and wellbeing? Do they show warmth and generosity in other ways? Or does their interest seem to revolve more around knowing what’s happening in your life than genuinely sharing in it?
Sometimes, rather than spending endless time trying to work out what somebody thinks of you, it’s worth asking yourself a simpler question: how do I actually feel after spending time with this person?
You don’t need a dramatic falling out to create some distance
This is perhaps the biggest change I’ve noticed in myself as I’ve got older. I’ve become much more selective about who I spend time with, what I share and where I invest my emotional energy. I suppose you could call it becoming discerning. It sounds considerably more sophisticated than admitting that I’ve simply become less willing to spend my limited free time feeling irritated.
That doesn’t mean expecting everyone around me to be relentlessly cheerful. We all have difficult periods, disappointments and days when our general outlook is rather less sunny than we’d like. Friendship should absolutely have room for those moments. I wouldn’t want somebody to feel they had to arrive at my door radiating positivity when what they really needed was a cup of coffee and a good moan. Frankly, some of the best conversations begin with a perfectly justified complaint.
There’s a difference, however, between somebody going through a difficult time and somebody whose general approach to life consistently leaves you feeling drained, criticised or smaller. I’ve learned that I naturally gravitate towards people who are positive, encouraging and genuinely pleased when good things happen to others. People who can have an honest conversation, disagree when necessary and still leave you feeling supported. People whose company you enjoy rather than recover from.
When I’ve recognised a different pattern, I’ve sometimes chosen to create a little distance. I’ve become more selective about what I share and how much of my time I invest in that relationship. Not necessarily because of one dramatic incident, but because of the accumulated effect of many smaller interactions.
There’s an enormous amount of guilt attached to stepping back from a friendship, particularly one that has existed for years. We sometimes behave as though the length of a relationship automatically entitles it to continue indefinitely in precisely the same form, regardless of whether it’s still good for either person. If only everything that had been around for twenty years automatically deserved permanent renewal. I’d still be using several deeply questionable items from my wardrobe.
History and present day compatibility aren’t quite the same thing.
Nor does every change in a friendship require a formal announcement, a comprehensive schedule of grievances and supporting exhibits. Although, as a lawyer, I can assure you that I could probably prepare a fairly respectable bundle if absolutely necessary!
Sometimes a conversation is worthwhile, particularly when the relationship matters to you and the other person may genuinely be unaware of the effect of their behaviour. Sometimes circumstances change and friendships naturally become less close. Sometimes you simply recognise that you feel better with a little more distance.
You don’t need to establish malicious intent beyond reasonable doubt before deciding that a friendship no longer deserves unrestricted access to your life. There’s no requirement to maintain the same level of access indefinitely simply because somebody was once a significant part of your life.
That doesn’t mean treating people unkindly, assuming the worst or withdrawing affection every time somebody disappoints you. It means recognising that you have some say in the relationships you nurture and the parts of your life you choose to share. Protecting your peace doesn’t require you to become cold or unkind. It simply means being a little more thoughtful about who gets to influence it.
Who do you instinctively want to tell?
If there’s one thing I’d encourage you to think about, it’s this: when something genuinely good happens in your life, who do you instinctively want to tell?
Who would you call when you’ve received wonderful news, achieved something you’ve worked hard for or finally taken a step towards something that matters to you? Who would be excited simply because you’re excited, even if the thing itself isn’t particularly interesting to them?
Perhaps more revealingly, whose reaction do you find yourself managing before you’ve even had the conversation?
I’m not suggesting that the answer to those questions should determine the future of every friendship. Relationships are more complicated than that, and people deserve the benefit of context, compassion and occasionally a second chance.
Our instincts can nevertheless tell us something worth examining. If we repeatedly feel the need to downplay our happiness, defend our choices or make our achievements seem smaller around somebody, perhaps the question isn’t whether we’ve gathered enough evidence to establish why they’re behaving that way. Perhaps it’s whether we’re comfortable continuing to feel that way.
With age, I’ve become less interested in maintaining relationships simply because they’ve existed for a long time and more interested in how those relationships actually feel. I don’t expect everyone around me to be endlessly positive, and I certainly don’t need people to agree with everything I do. I do want to share my life with people who can be genuinely pleased when something goes well, just as I want to be there for them when things don’t.
You don’t need friends who clap for absolutely everything you do, but you do need friends who are capable of clapping.