On Tuesday this week, I received notification from my email marketing platform that one of my readers had unsubscribed. I have a little, but loyal, band of followers, and I am grateful beyond words for their constant encouragement. Unsubscribing is a deliberate act; if you are merely bored by my content, or too busy, you simply do not bother to open the email.
I had a hunch who the reader was that unfollowed me, as she had recently and mysteriously disappeared from Facebook. My curiosity was easy to confirm on the platform, and the timing was immediately after my blog post about the Women’s March on Washington in 2017. The piece was intended to promote the beauty and power of peaceful demonstration – and to compare it to the recent violent protest at the U.S. Capitol. But my disappointment and distain for right-wing followers of President Trump were at the core of my article.
I have written and disseminated more than one hundred blog posts in the last two years. Though I have occasionally dabbled in peripheral issues such as racism and justice inequality, I have steered clear of politics. I lack the expertise and partisan acumen to speak knowledgeably, and I do not want to parrot the thoughts of others. My writings focus on my personal experiences, interests, and learnings. My essays usually feel joyful to me, but at times, they are deeply cathartic or outright painful.
Politics polarize friendships. Most seasoned social media users refrain from posting about political beliefs because of the often-vehement discourse that ensues. And yet, I do not want to hide behind a vanilla cloak of neutrality merely to avoid the loss of acolytes. That feels unadventurous, at a minimum, and even cowardly. I watch news channels with opposite viewpoints, and I regularly read articles praising politicians whose perspectives do not align with mine. I feel it is my civic responsibility.
But remaining close to someone whose opinions are vastly different than mine takes effort that could be directed elsewhere. Connection hinges on tenets more significant than time. Emotional camaraderie is built more on philosophical leanings than having kids who are best buddies. Parental allegiance that develops through parenting trials, neighborhood potlucks, and educational volunteerism is significant but ultimately inadequate in the face of weightier wrenches on our souls.
If I am honest, the diminution of our kinship began long ago. Tiny fractures in the relationship deepened and widened with time without bonding events to close and shallow them. I tried hard as our lives increasingly diverged, hers into retirement and travel, mine bolted to the routines of work and home. I mailed newsy holiday letters and texted pictures of our adult children, still bound by their childhood friendships. I reminded myself that our history together was stronger than current political divisiveness.
I was wrong. The painful truth is that our lives have taken disparate trajectories, guided by irreconcilable philosophies and ideologies.
I will miss my friend, but I will remember what I love most about her: her energy and enthusiasm, her unbridled and effervescent sense of humor, her grounded and deep-rooted lifestyle, and her core belief in the goodness of every child. We will never be close again, but my fondness for her, and my hope that her life continues to unfold with joy, will never end.