Thinking Outside of the Circle

As I've gotten older, I've learned some very important lessons. In my bank of wisdom, I now have deposited the following tidbits of information: two hours spent poolside in Florida is not equivalent to two hours out in the sun in New York, so you must always wear sunblock, especially if you're vacationing around the Summer Equinox; blinking red lights are just like stop signs--do not wait for them to turn green, as they never will, not even on road tests; and make sure that the liquid you're pouring into your cereal from the gallon-sized container is, in fact, milk, for orange juice-flavored Fruit Loops are not nearly as tasty. However, the most important lesson I believe a person can gather deals with two elements that are essential to my existence: love and friendship.

When it comes to relationships, I believe that partners should be like apples and bananas. They're great apart, but their union can create a new and intoxicating fusion of flavor. When the union goes sour, however, the two fruits begin to taint one another's unique savor, and it's best to separate them before any irreparable damage is done. The apple and banana can then scurry back to their respective bushels and bunches, obviously changed by their experience, but able to regroup independent from each other.

No, I'm not just hungry, though this brief discussion has put me in the mood for a smoothie. What I'm trying to convey through this convoluted analogy is that, in my experience, I have found that a romance is best served when the participants come from different circles of friends.

Time and time again, I've seen it happen. One of my close friends will develop feelings for another member in my inner circle and pursue that person. Frequently, the chase is utterly and completely futile; the pursued individual has shown no interest simply because he or she does not reciprocate the other's affections. They are friends because that's exactly how the sought person wants it. These unrequited emotions can brood bitterness and resentment in the pursuer, leading to awkward tensions on nights that are supposed to be filled with drinking and laughing, not bulwarks and battle-line divisions.

Sometimes, however, the pursuit is successful, and the two friend-lovers are blissfully happy--for a time. When this union dissolves and the two go their separate ways, where, exactly, do they go? The apple and banana in my analogy were able to retreat back to their own fruit friends because they came from discrete, non-integrated trees. But now, these ex-lovers are in an awkward situation. Do they suck it up and continue to see each other when they spend time with their old companions, or do they treat the breakup like a divorce and answer the silent, almost inevitable question: Who gets custody of the friends? After all, there is usually one person who is closer to the group than the other, and to this victor go the spoils. This process leads to only more uncomfortable moments for the friends, as they must decide how to react once they see the ousted member of the circle of friends. Do I say "hi"? Do I pretend I didn't see him? Do I sit near him in class?

These situations have no right answers. No, you can't choose who you fall in love with, but I can offer only my experience as a form of advice. At 21, I have heard four "I love you"s and been promised five "forever"s. Now, I am single, and the only person who I know will part of my forever for sure is me. But at least I know that my future will not be lonely, as I can count on the good friends I've made to be a part of it, too. So when you're picking your partner, don't be afraid to fall a bit further from the tree. There are plenty more apples in the orchard.