By James Colley
One thing I’ve been thinking about lately is how we’re all going to die one day. Spoilers. Oh, and present company excluded, of course. Everyone else is going to die except for you, the person reading this. You are simply too wonderful and special for the world to possibly go on without. Heck, if you were to go, I think the rest of us would call it a day. What would be the point of going on without you? So, rest assured, you wouldn’t be missing much.
Usually, this kind of existential ennui will trigger someone into a big life change, such as travelling the world or buying a hat that you’ll later regret. For me, the owner of many hats I regret purchasing, it has imbued me with a fresh impatience. There are certain things I can no longer tolerate. I will not waste my time on animals at the zoo that I could easily see outside the zoo. If you’re an Australian animal, you should not be in Taronga. You’re not impressive, you’re a loser that got caught.
But most importantly, I no longer wish to hold myself to the societal norms that require a constant aloof detachment from our own lives. Australians are constitutionally forbidden from expressing genuine emotion. We are not allowed to look someone in the eyes and speak from the heart, we cannot boast, we cannot praise, lest we be mistaken for an American, a fate worse than death itself.
It’s me, hi, I’m the problem it’s me.Credit: Istock
I remember an occasion waiting for luggage at the airport when an American sidled up to me and said, “Some flight, ey?” and I had to resist the urge to correct him. Sorry, sir, we don’t do that here. No small talk, no taking interest in the lives of strangers, no connection with your fellow human beings, thank you very much. But, though it sickens me to say it, maybe the Americans did get one thing right. Being terribly forthright and obnoxious is a real time-saver.
I have begun hoisting myself upon my friends. No more of these chats that end in how we should catch up at some ephemeral time in the future as if our calendars can only be dictated by fate. More than that, add a touch of obnoxiousness and you can finally discover the answers to the questions you’ve always wanted to know about your closest friends. Namely, what is it you actually do for a living? It’s been years and it feels rude to ask because I surely should know at this point and I am certain you explained it once but there was a Dalmatian going past at the time and you know how seeing a Dalmatian in real life feels a little like seeing a celebrity? Also, I’ve never really considered the possibility that you had a rich inner life, so sorry about that. Seriously, though, what do you do all day?
Then there are the friends who have fallen by the wayside over the years. Not through fault or falling out, but rather because sometimes life happens and keeps happening. I believe it was the great poets Smash Mouth who observed the years start coming and they don’t stop coming. They were absolutely correct. The ease of communication and the elimination of the tyranny of distance makes speaking to one another easier than ever. What we don’t reflect on enough is how this adds weight to any time spent not speaking to each other. We all know that the phone works both ways. Why should you message them if they haven’t messaged? For that matter, why haven’t they messaged? They’re probably busy. We’re all busy. No one has the time to do anything. It’s remarkable that anything ever gets done considering all the things we have to do. The silence strengthens with every day until, eventually, it wins.
They defy all social conventions, are immune to shame, and will happily send three texts in a row even when they haven’t received a reply.
This is why you have to learn to be a little bit obnoxious. Not just dabble in it, relish in it. Any of my friends will proudly announce to you how annoying I am. I won’t say it’s one of my finest qualities, but it is certainly one of my major qualities. Add to this a general joy I derive from bothering others and I am essentially a robot designed to pierce silences. The annoying friend is undervalued in our society. They’re the ones who keep the group chat going with inane banter. The ones that force you all to actually make plans. They defy all social conventions, are immune to shame, and will happily send three texts in a row even when they haven’t received a reply.
One of my favourite pieces of relationship advice is that every functioning partnership relies on a 60/40 principle. One party does a little bit more to ensure that you are happy together. The kicker is, both people must be convinced that they are the ones giving the 60 per cent. These are the moments where you think “why should I have to do this?” and then you do it anyway. Not because it’s your turn but because you are capable of doing it and you would rather live in a world where it has been done.
Now, as a spider’s uncle once said, with great power comes great responsibility. This is not a carte blanche invitation to bother people who you know in your heart do not wish to be bothered. You still have to know how to take a hint. You especially need to respect a boundary once it has been established. What I am saying is do not presume a hint where one has been given. Do not assign yourself as a burden. Frankly, you probably are a little bit annoying. That’s fine. Everyone’s a little bit annoying. Stop focusing on it so much. You’re so annoying when you do that.
But with so much to lose, it’s important to try. I treated myself to a little grief relapse the other day. I put on the playlist of songs that reminded me of a lost friend, a playlist I have named “Good Grief!” which I think is a very good joke and also would cause any professional therapist to ask a few follow-up questions. I began to trawl through our shared digital footprint. That’s one of the odd things about being part of the generation that grew up with the internet, there’s a clear and searchable record of you growing up. The kind of things that should be in a cardboard box in your parents’ garage are available at the touch of a button. Every embarrassing, pathetic, cringeworthy thought floating in the ether ready to send a chill down your spine at your convenience. And here I am, grateful for every last one of them. Laid out like this, you can see the evidence of each time when a long silence was punctured by sharing a song, a joke, or a birthday wish.
Perhaps the problem is that we believe that bridging the gap between souls requires a grand gesture or clearly defined purpose. We have allowed a world that values utility to dictate the shape of relationships. But at the core of every message, annoying and pointless, sent out of boredom or agonised over, is the same sentiment: I thought about you.
Is there a nicer thought you can have? As I walked through the streets and made my way through my life, something made me think of you. Such is your impact on my life, that the thought of you brings me warmth, and I want to share that warmth with you. Might as well tell them now. When they’re gone, everything will remind you of them. Every last thing.
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