What is free speech?

I lost a friend last week. I’m trying not to spiral about it and I’m doing an okay job, I think. She sent a final text that said I had been sharp and dismissive of her and she hoped I understood. I do not understand. It was the first time she had mentioned any grievances and she offer no further explanation. I won’t get the chance to rectify my mistakes. She cut and run.

I am self aware. I know I am not for everyone. I’m not a perfect person (and not for nothing, I have had better years in my life), so I may have been sharp and dismissive, I don’t doubt it. How can I hope to become a better person without feedback on how I f*cked up? I guess that’s not her responsibility. It is a free country. But, now I know I wasn’t important enough to her to try and fix it, and that sucks.

I go against the grain. I have ever since I was a teenager and I found that a well-organized counter argument garnered respect, especially from the older men I very much wanted respect from. My own father was impossible to please and couldn’t give less sh*ts about me and my ideas. I liked being quick-witted and insightful. I took pride in it. In contrast with my socially conforming peers, paying attention to facts and keeping things in context got me the attention I craved. Over time I found that crafting well-thought arguments requires you to think well. Maybe a little more deeply than those who view debate as something you do around a water cooler. I don’t view it that way. I think you should know where you stand before speaking. Take the case of Bear v. Man that made the rounds a few months ago. I am an outlier here in my feminist community. I’d take a man in the woods over a bear any day. It doesn’t even feel worth discussing. I’d much rather go by gun or knife, than by tooth and claw, and I’m confident I’d have a chance to reason with the man. There’s hope he’d understand that my spaz of a dog is not a threat, but a harmless idiot at the end of a leash. A bear would eat us both. I know this is a bad feminist standpoint, but if I never meet a bear in the woods, it will be too soon. I don’t speak up in these debates because… I don’t know. I guess my viewpoint feels too logical? It feels impolite, like I’m calling the other side ignorant. That’s probably how it comes across. You’re telling me that in comparison to a bear…? I so thoroughly don’t understand their side of it. I suspect the disconnect is a difference in life experience; I have a hearty respect for the strength of bears, I could kick a guy’s ass if I needed to, and my most frightening encounters have been with women.

I was probably an area like this one where I stepped out of line with my friend. I get excited for a good debate. I forget that not everyone enjoys the edge of a repartee. And I did tell her to shut up once. Something that she does often, I thought that’s where we were friendship-wise. She was bragging about her tiny tummy at a pro-democracy meeting I invited her to. I was making a presentation on how to document fascism. I was feeling nervous, and it was a hard day for my body image. I felt bad about it afterward. I would describe that exchange as sharp. Anyway, those are my guesses for my missteps in the relationship. I’m sure she’s reading this, but I’m not sure she’d tell me if I’m wrong.

I should have apologized. Telling her to shut up was a weak moment on my part. It was mean, and knowing it was mean and keeping my mouth shut makes it worse. I’m sorry for that. But the other stuff, that’s me. I love an intelligent conversation. I identify myself as someone who is well informed about what she’s informed about and well aware of what she isn’t. I have deeply considered beliefs. I am proud of those things. I’ve fought very hard to keep that part of myself out of hiding. So, we won’t get along if my passion for philosophical reductions is not welcome at breakfast. It’s part of the package. If that’s her objection, then she made the right call.

Since we’re not friends anymore, I will return to treating her as I did when we met several years ago, as an acquaintance. Showing her only the edited version of myself. I’m not going to be a d*ck about it and purposefully say sharp and dismissive things after she’s told me they hurt her. That would be insensitive and would put me in the out group. Rightfully so. But without knowing exactly what it was that made her so uncomfortable, I’ll have to guess at it. Not just around my ex-friend but around everyone, I’ll have to reduce myself to some manufactured ideal of not sharp and dismissive and hide my authentic reactions. Which is fine, if that’s what others need to be comfortable, but it is by definition less authentic. As my age creeps, that is the opposite of what I am after in life. I’d like to be able to say what I think and know that the friend across the table will tell me if I’ve crossed a line—not in order to cancel me, but to teach me something about themselves. I may talk out of turn occasionally, but I am one respectful motherf*cker. I want to know if I hurt you, and I promise I will listen for how to correct it. I also want to be able to relax with you, so I need to trust that you will tell me if I say something wrong. If I am afraid to speak freely, we have no hope at finding the line between intimacy and harm. The trouble is in the guesswork.

Of course, I feel angry at how she chose to end our friendship (how very teenage angst of me to hash it out in a blog post), but I expect that will soon subside and be replaced with sadness at the loss. Not just the loss of the friendship itself, but the loss of the discourse I was under the impression we had. It turns out that may not have existed at all. Where I thought she loved me for my quick wit and insightful observations, she was taking offense all along, tallying the infractions until she had enough to justify burning the bridge. She was not interested in discourse, as I was. I must have misread her intentions, or rather they were misrepresented.

Without an explanation to fill in the blanks, I’m left believing I’m wrong in some unnameable way—a label that I’ve done years of work to reject. Was there something I could have changed about myself that would have led to an alternate outcome? Would I have been willing to make that change if I knew what it was? There is give and take in every intimate relationship, but there are also limits. Honesty allows both parties to evaluate their needs and decide for themselves whether to stay or go. She didn’t respect me enough to tell me what I did that was so unforgivable she’d end the friendship. If she had, and I told her I don’t give a sh*t, she could feel justified. That would indeed be dismissive and unworthy of friendship. Even I would support her departure. If she doesn’t enjoy a sharp conversation, that’s fine. I’m not going to insist she keep talking to me if she’s unhappy. That doesn’t mean I’m wrong, I’m just not for her. But if the real reason for ending things is incompatibility, and she’s blaming me because it’s more comfortable for her than telling the truth, that’s cruel. And that is a quality I choose to avoid.