My Best Friend Didn't Have To Ghost Me — 'A Simple No Would Have Been Better'
Real friends make an effort, show up, and tell the truth even if it hurts.
SeventyFour | Canva Age has made me resilient. Now, I don’t take everything personally, and it’s much easier to move on rather than ruminate on every slight. If a friend disappoints me or life doesn’t go my way, I regroup and put my focus elsewhere.
People will do what they want, and it's not a big deal if it doesn’t align with me. I’m the one responsible for my reactions and behaviors.
Recently, a friend from high school ghosted me during what should have been a pleasant friend reunion.
I don’t have much immediate family, and three-quarters of that family are Jehovah’s Witnesses, of which I’m not. So, immediately, there’s a wall between us. We work around this religious barrier, but it’s always solidly there, preventing us from being close.
Because of this familial barrier, I’ve always prioritized my friends and take friendship seriously. Family doesn’t come first for me unless you’re talking about my boyfriend, Andy, and our cats.
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Strong friendships require work and awareness — you must consistently put in as much effort in an old relationship as you would in a new one.
Many people don’t realize this and are surprised when their friendships fizzle out after a while. Lasting relationships are more important to me than making a dazzling first impression. I keep in touch, reach out, and follow up. I’ve always come away with a friend or two from every group I've been involved with, whether it was school, a sketch show, or a job.
I’ve been alive for 64 years, and I have friends from every time, except for babyhood. Still, that’s pretty good.
I don’t feel the need to be friends with everyone or test people on their worthiness. However, I don’t want problematic people in my life. Still, luckily, the bitter or unsupportive friends, the self-destructive ones, and the mean ones have flown away, usually on their own without my prompting.
One of the reasons I love my childhood friends is our shared history, our ability to know exactly what we’re referring to, and our use of shorthand in references.
Snow may not seem like a remarkable weather system to most people, but to those who grew up in San Jose, California, and witnessed the rare and light snow we had in the late 1970s, it’s a remarkable memory and one we all share.
Then there were those kids who did the musicals and plays in school while we were in the Drama Club. There’s nothing like hours of play practice and performances to bond you forever.
Sandy was a high school girl anomaly — she was super cute with light brown hair, sparkly eyes, and an honest smile and we instantly became friends.
On top of her looks, she could sing, dance, and act. With all this, Sandy had all the makings of a mean girl, but it wasn’t in her nature. You couldn’t help but like her; the best part was that she easily liked you back.
Since Sandy was younger than me, I didn’t meet her until we performed in a show. I was stunned when Sandy befriended me during “The Music Man.” I felt my social standing rise as Sandy was a bridge to the popular crowd.
Sandy came from a large family; from the outside, it looked healthy and functional. Since this wasn’t the case with my family, I loved to go to her house rather than mine after school. If we didn’t have rehearsal, hang out, listen to music, talk about our crushes, and gossip — all standard high school girl stuff. But with Sandy, it felt extra magical.
When I graduated, I lost touch with Sandy. It was refreshing because there wasn’t a big fight or animosity, and the friendship faded away. My memories of Sandy over the decades remained positive and full of love.
Decades later, I shared a picture of a high school show on Facebook. Who reached out but Sandy? She remembered how close we were and said I was one of her best friends in high school. I felt validated that I hadn’t rewritten history. Sandy turns out to be as affable, friendly, and fun as she was 40+ years ago.
Neither of us still lives in San Jose — I’m in Los Angeles, and she’s in a town about 90 minutes away, Bakersfield. Strangely, this town, known for its ranches and oil, is on our radar.
My friend Jill grew up in the Bakersfield area for part of her youth, and we decided, with our friend Lauren, to take a nostalgia tour of Jill’s old stomping ground and do whatever fun things Bakersfield had to offer.
Since we’ll be there anyway, why not meet up with Sandy?
“Whoa! What a major treat! Heck yeah!,” Sandy says when I suggest a coffee date. We messaged each other our contact information. A few days before the Bakersfield getaway, I suggested a possible meeting place, but Sandy didn’t respond. I think, “Maybe she doesn’t have Messenger anymore,” so I text her.
I call Sandy when I don’t hear back about our coffee date. The only response I get is silence.
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As Jill and I drive up to Bakersfield, I’m still hopeful Sandy will call me, but she never does. It’s almost like our conversations never happened. Every time my phone beeps or rings, the optimistic part of my heart rises, and when it’s never Sandy, I face the truth: Sandy ghosted me.
I’m disappointed, but I remind myself that going to Bakersfield wasn’t to reunite with Sandy; that was just a side benefit; the real reason was to spend time with two women who mean everything to me.
Sandy has six kids, a thriving real estate career, and is close to her siblings. She may have been scheduled all day with house showings or taking her children to various social events. I would have understood.
How difficult would it have been for her to say, 'I’m too busy to meet,' or 'I’m sorry to miss you, maybe next time,' or any excuse? Avoidance isn’t a good way to handle anything; it still creates drama in its nothingness.
Rather than not replying at all, she could have been honest — no harm, no foul — our previous friendship deserved a heads-up, and she didn’t give it. I don’t know the woman she’s become, and though she let me down, seeing or not seeing Sandy has very little effect on my life.
Responding is a courtesy and respects the other person’s time and energy to be truthful and direct — teen Sandy would have known that.
Sandy’s actions put into perspective how great my friends are — Lauren drove down from her house in Oakland, not out of any overwhelming desire to see Bakersfield, but to spend time with Jill and me. We were there to celebrate Jill’s past and strengthen our friendship bond.
The trip reminded me that real friends make an effort, don't ghost, and tell the truth even if it hurts.
Ghosting may seem harmless, but it sends a message of disrespect and indifference. Instead of feeling rejected by a ghost of relationships past, I feel grateful for my friends who proved their love for me repeatedly and for the friendship I had with Sandy when I needed it the most.
Christine Schoenwald is a writer, performer, and frequent contributor to YourTango. She's had articles featured in The Los Angeles Times, Salon, Bustle, Medium, Huffington Post, Business Insider, and Woman's Day, among many others.