Are You One of My People?
The difference between someone you once knew and someone you keep.
Dear Reader: Most weeks when I write this newsletter, I try to make it a healthy mix of writing for my own sake and giving you something worth your time. This week, I wrote this because I needed to write it for me. It's a bit self-indulgent at times, so if you wanna skip this one, no worries. Just wanted to give you a heads up.
A few months ago I was talking with a friend of mine and I said something about her being one of my people.
She paused.
“Your people? I’m one of your people?”
I thought for a moment and said yeah, of course. To me it was obvious, but perhaps it wasn’t to her.
In the months since, I’ve thought a lot about that interaction. What does it mean to be one of my people? To be a friend?
You make friends from time to time and it can be almost effortless. This passing thing of yeah, they’re my friend. But what I’ve come to realize is that I actually have some rules around friendship. I didn’t know I had them until they were broken. I know that sounds pompous. Maybe even a little wrong. But turns out I have rules. I was just as surprised as anyone.
Wanna know what they are? Here goes.
Don’t be a narcissist. That’s a no-brainer for me, but kinda tough for some people. Most narcissists lack the awareness to know they are one. And to be fair, for some people it’s a legitimate mental health condition. It’s not something they can control. But I still can’t be close to it.
I have to trust you. It doesn’t mean we braid each other’s hair and share all our deep dark secrets. But a fundamental honesty has to exist between us. If I can’t trust you, we can’t be friends.
You have to show up. And this y’all is where the rubber meets the road. You have to be there. Not all the time. Not for every big moment. But when things go south, or something bad happens, or some awfulness of the world threatens, you have to show the F up. In some way. In some meaningful, hey-I-tried, you-can-count-on-me, I-am-here-when-you-need-me kind of way.
So this week, let’s talk about what it means to show up, why it’s the rule that matters most, and how getting it right might be the difference between someone you once knew and someone who is one of your people.
The Rule I Didn’t Know I Had
As I’ve written about a fair amount, I lost my job six months ago. I mean, I didn’t lose it. I know where it is. It’s just that like three different people have it now. Which in its own way is kind of flattering, I guess.
Anyhoo.
In the hours and days after it happened, this galvanizing thing took place.
Some people showed up. Some people didn’t.
One of my best friends at the company kept me at arm’s length. He’d reply if I reached out, but he never really initiated unless it served him. This was a guy who made it seem like he’d do anything for me. But in the end, it was performative.
A person I’d mentored for years just…disappeared. She claimed to feel bad. I heard she was wracked with guilt. For a while, I tried to understand. But guilt that never turns into action isn’t really guilt, is it? It’s something else. Something a bit more selfish.
But what matters so much more are the people who did show up. My neighbor brought food. Some people texted every day. Some people quietly signed up for this newsletter. Every bit of it was seen. Every bit of it mattered.
When you’re at rock bottom and someone shows up for you, it changes the friendship. It stops being casual. It becomes something you’d fight for. The people who said “I’ve got you, tell me what you need” aren’t just my friends anymore. They’re something more.
And the ones who didn’t? They’re just people I once knew.
Why We Disappear
There are a few things that happen when people don’t show up for someone.
Some people say, “I wanted to give you space.” It sounds like some totally self-aware thing, but I’m not so sure. I think that most people going through something hard don’t want space. They want to know someone is there. It’s easier to step back than to step in. Calling it “giving space” just makes abandonment sound noble. Maybe that’s just me.
Some people say, “I didn’t know what to say.” And that one’s trickier because it’s probably true. Nobody teaches you what to do when something awful happens, or someone loses someone, or gets a diagnosis that changes everything. You stare at your phone and type something and delete it and type something else and then put the phone down and tell yourself you’ll do it tomorrow. And tomorrow becomes next week. And next week becomes never.
And then there are the people who just don’t say anything. They’re never heard from again. And who knows why. They got busy. They figured you’d be fine. They didn’t think hearing from them right now would be a big deal. There’s no dramatic excuse. They just didn’t think about it.
And yeah, I get it. Life happens in real time and we all get sucked up into our own things. It’s easy to tell yourself that the other person is probably surrounded by people who care. That they don’t need one more text.
A lot of people legitimately have no idea what to do when a friend is in need. And that doesn’t make them bad people. It doesn’t make them bad friends. It’s part of being human.
But the thing that tips someone from being just a name in your contacts into a real friend is that they try anyway. They don’t know what to do or say or how to act, but they still reach out. Even if it’s super awkward. Even if the text is clumsy. Even if all they can manage is “hey, I’m thinking about you and I don’t know what to say but I’m here.”
That’s it. That’s the whole shebang. It doesn’t have to be grand gestures or road trips. You just have to try.
How to Show Up
So if you’ve read this far and you’re thinking about someone you maybe should have reached out to, or you want to be better at this going forward, here’s the playbook. None of this is complicated. All of it matters.
Send the text. You don’t need the perfect words. “Hey, thinking about you” is enough. “I don’t know what to say but I’m here” is enough. Silence is the only wrong answer.
Don’t wait to be asked. People in crisis rarely ask for help. They don’t want to be a burden. Show up without an invitation.
Be specific. “Let me know if you need anything” sounds nice but puts the work on the person who’s struggling. Try “I’m dropping off dinner Tuesday” or “I’m free Thursday if you want to talk.” Give them something to say yes to, not something to figure out.
Keep showing up. The first week after something bad happens, people get a flood of support. By week three, it’s crickets. Be the person who’s still texting in week three. And month two. And beyond.
Don’t make it about you. This isn’t the time to share your similar experience or tell them how hard it is for you to see them going through this. Just listen. Just be there.
Match their energy. Some people want to talk about it. Some people want to be distracted from it. Pay attention to which one your friend needs and follow their lead.
Will it be awkward sometimes? You betcha! Will you say the wrong thing? Perhaps. But the friend who stumbles through a clumsy text beats the friend who stays silent every single time and twice on Sunday.
In Conclusion
I know some people reading this will say I’m one self-righteous SOB. And you’re not wrong. I need to be more forgiving. Let it go already. Just meet people where they are. All true.
But.
I am always the guy who shows up. And maybe I hold that against people a little. Maybe I hold them to unreasonable standards. Maybe I expect too much.
But then I consider the calls I got within hours of losing my job.
Or one of my best friends calling me after my mom died.
Or the soup our neighbor sent after my wife’s surgery.
Or the couple down the block who brings us specialty popcorn every New Year.
Or the ride home from the airport after my wife and I had a pretty serious accident in Colorado.
Or the CDs our friends from college send us every Christmas.
Or the friend who was the first to sign up for one of my online workshops.
Or the beers I got with my buddy the other night for no reason at all.
Or the texts I get on my birthday from people who just wanna make sure my day has been great.
Or the job postings some folks keep sending me.
Or the random notes I get from people who read this newsletter.
That’s what showing up looks like. It’s not one big thing. It’s a hundred small ones.
And every single one of those people? Yeah, those are my people.
Ever Forward,
— Derek (aka Chief Rabbit)
HOLD UP! I’m running a 90-minute online workshop on April 8th called Making Sense of AI. Plain language, live demos, real answers about costs, limits, and privacy. Same stuff I teach every week at North Seattle College.
$50. Wednesday, April 8th at 10am Pacific.
(That link goes to my consulting website. Don’t worry, that’s me.)
Also, I write this new newsletter every dang day. Check it out:
