On Arriving Together
Tyler Heesh (Western Sydney University)
If you tell me a story that starts with you standing outside a venue waiting for a friend to arrive, you have all of my empathy.
Six years ago. Me. Waiting outside. Well, outside the pizza place a block down the road.
Concerning when I’d gotten no reply from my friend. Three hours ago, ‘hey, where do you want to meet?’ There were still ways this could work. They overslept and are desperately rushing to get here. Or no battery. Or people just don’t have to be checking their messages all the time. Screen-time guilt is not new. I’m trying not to check my phone, but I’m pretty certain my pocket buzzed. Although last time that was a calendar notification about tomorrow’s public holiday. And the time before that, nothing. Embarrassment is being outside alone and flipping your phone and seeing the empty space between the time and the bottom of the screen. I lean back against an advert for some local beer.
OK. That vibration was unmistakable. Right? A notification. Yes. A swipe, ‘sorry, really not feeling it.’
Even worse than waiting for a friend is the moment of standing outside a venue not waiting for a friend to arrive, wondering if you should do anything other than scamper home. Before I was merely scared of going, but at least I had clarity: we were going. Now there was a decision to make.
Sometimes part of the reason for cancelling plans, or not leaving the house, or bailing on a party, is because we know to go would mean travelling to whatever it is alone.
These are some notes to the warmth of arriving somewhere with friends: To not standing alone out the front, either: a) looking at your phone or; b) not looking at your phone and looking around1 like a weirdo.2 To knowing you have a safe person to talk to when you walk in the door. To briefing on the train, in the car, and to debriefing as soon as you leave the building. To a friend working out how you are going to get there. To actually making it inside. To not having to walk into someplace new without someone familiar. To not having to check if you have the right address, and even if you have the right address, to not doubting it, and even if you have the wrong address – getting to make that mistake together, and having a shared story from it to come back to again and again.
This invigoration, of arriving together, has shown up in my life through parties made better for going with a housemate, meals cooked when a friend is also cooking, concerts or talks or writer’s festivals, or anything because a friend said ‘of course I’ll go with you.’ And for every one of them, there are two, maybe three things left unattended because of the fear of arriving alone, or being unwilling to ask someone else to go with me.
And maybe even if you don’t have that fear of arriving alone: if you’ve ever been the person arriving second at a café, or outside a theatre, or to a group dinner, have you seen the smile on the face of the person who arrived first? That’s them expressing ‘I’m so glad you’re here, I was dying.’
Arriving together is not just about sharing the same physical space. You may have done the job interview, but did someone else encourage you to go for it, make you aware it was available?3 Even if you go into your psychologist appointment alone, you may have needed someone to drop you off, or recommend a psychologist, or to ask you about your mental health for real in the first place. So many of the words I’ve wanted to say are only able to leave my head or laptop because other people have in some way said they’d go there with me.24, 5
Some questions arise at this point. Surely it’s “good for us” to have this experience of arriving alone sometimes? Resilience, discomfort, etc. Moreover, aren’t there things we can only do alone, or are better for doing them solo? I think all that needs to be said to these questions are, ‘yes, it’s all true!’
But lots of the most courageous things we’ve done in life are probably only done because someone was willing to arrive with us. Or, we can increase the scope of what’s possible for another person by showing up. I am imagining some kind of illustration with a small circle equalling all the things I have bravery to do on my own, and a big, somewhat overlapping circle representing all the things I have bravery to do when I know I will be going with someone else. And perhaps there are as many possible circles as people we trust?
Friendship opens up our ability to do the things we want to do but are afraid of doing.
What’s something small that you’re mildly afraid to do (noting mild fears are still fears)? It could be as small as getting a coffee and watching the dogs play in the park, despite not having a dog, or going to see a play, or going to that party you feel apathetic about for some reason. Mention or link it to a friend and say, ‘hey can we do this together?’6
Or the converse: if we notice a friend keeps talking about something without doing it, we could ask, ‘hey there’s this thing that you keep mentioning you want to do, why do you want to do it?’ And maybe ‘can I help you make a start?’
When I think about six years from now, my hope is not that I’ll be less afraid (this seems unlikely!) but that I’ll be better at letting my friends know what I’m afraid to do, and that knowing they know will be enough for me to arrive someplace new.
1 What are you supposed to look at?
2 Being alone carries an asymmetry where we presume, for instance, the stranger across the road is thinking ‘what is that person standing by themself sticking their finger up the inside of their nose for?’, but they are probably not thinking about us at all. When we’re alone, one hundred percent of the conversation is happening inside our heads, and this cascades into wondering if others are devoted to perceiving us
3 This sounds dangerously like nepotism. I suppose a generous read of nepotism is ‘not wanting to go it alone’?
4 I think this includes you : )
5 Because there’s a generosity that comes with us taking seriously something that another human has made, no matter what our opinion ends up being of it
6 Why am I asking you to act on this? I suppose I don’t just want to feel good about arriving together. I want to know what’s possible, maybe help increase other people’s spaces for possibility.
Tyler Heesh is a writer of European and Asian descent. He was ranked as the second most shy student in his Creative Writing class. He lives with his spouse and their housemate/friend. He is grateful for you, reading this.
