This Is The One Thing I Don’t Compromise On...

There’s one thing I’ve become increasingly unwilling to compromise on in my own life:

Maintaining longstanding relationships, even when they are difficult and take work.

Because, let's be honest, the longer someone is in your life, the more opportunities there are for the relationship to become complicated. You’ve had more time to disappoint each other, to disagree, to change, to fall into old patterns, and to see sides of one another you don’t particularly like.

You’ve also been part of each other’s lives through different periods of development, different versions of yourselves with different ways of relating.

That’s not necessarily a sign of a bad relationship. Sometimes it’s simply what happens when two imperfect people have known each other for a very long time.

I have several people in my own life who are imperfect. Some who are frustratingly complicated at times. These are people I’ve known for decades whose quirks I know all too well, whose choices I don’t always understand, and with whom I don’t always agree.

And yet, they are deeply important to the social fabric of my life.

It's true that newer friendships I have made can feel so much easier. There isn’t much baggage. You haven’t disappointed each other yet. You don’t have 20 years of disagreements, old roles, misunderstandings, family dynamics, or history sitting between you. 

Of course it feels easier. It’s new.

And the most common place for this complexity to show up is in our families of origin. The same is true of friends who have known us since we were young. These relationships may be complicated, but they also give us something newer relationships simply can't: deep roots.

That’s why I think a strong social life isn't built only by adding new people. It's also built by maintaining the relationships that have taken years (or decades) to grow.

That doesn’t mean every longstanding relationship should be preserved. Some relationships are genuinely destructive, and sometimes distance is necessary. But I don't want ordinary human imperfection to cost me relationships that took decades to build.

So when it comes to the people who form the deeper roots of my social life, I try to do three things:

1. Understand the limits of each relationship and accept that limitations are okay.

Maybe your childhood friend is wonderful to reminisce with but isn't the person you go to for emotional advice. Maybe you love a family member deeply but can only spend a certain amount of time together before you've had enough.

That's okay. A relationship can be limited and still be valuable. Not every person needs to meet every need in order to have a meaningful place in your life.

2. Let the relationship change shape.

Some relationships survive precisely because we stop insisting they remain what they once were.

Maybe you used to talk every day and now you talk once a month. Maybe holidays work better than weeklong vacations. Maybe you've stopped discussing the one subject you always fight about.

Adaptation isn't necessarily evidence that a relationship is failing. Sometimes it's how a relationship lasts.

3. Invest before there’s a reason to.

Don't wait for the wedding, funeral, illness, or crisis to reconnect. Send the text. Make the annual trip. Remember the birthday. Keep the tradition alive. Put the dinner on the calendar even if coordinating it is annoying.

Longstanding relationships can feel permanent because they've already survived so much.

They aren't. Roots stay deep because we continue tending them.

I’m certainly going to keep meeting new people. I hope I continue forming new friendships for the rest of my life.

But I don't want novelty to trick me into undervaluing history.

Some of the relationships in my life will always be complicated.

So am I.

And increasingly, I've come to believe that one of the great privileges of a connected life is having people who have known many versions of you...and choosing, when we reasonably can, to keep knowing one another.

That's one thing I don't want to compromise on.

—James K. Ellis, Ph.D.