I have an awkward story.
It goes back to one of my first classes in college. I like having friends, lots of them. So when I moved away to college and knew absolutely no one I was overwhelmed and ready to make some lifelong pals.
The thing is, I grew up in a small town where I always had friends. They were just there. Sure new ones would come, but I didn’t have to be brave because I already had some friends.
Well, in my Introduction to Journalism class I sat next to a girl, Nichole was her name if you’re curious, and we chatted discussing the lack of programs for transfer students, apartments and other things new people talk about and I thought “She’d make a great friend!”
Then I made my mistake.
I looked at her at the end of the class, super eager to start a beautiful friendship and blurted out, “Do you want to be my friend?”
I realize now that this may have come off a little creepy and needy, but I was new to making friends. Give me a break.
Well, needless to say, Nichole did not sit by me again and a friendship was not made.
Why share this incredibly humiliating story?
While listening to music and trying to find something to do on this day that has nothing happening I heard a song by the White Stripes called, “We’re Going to Be Friends,” and I thought of Nichole.
I think I still have that eager 19-year-old spirit of wanting everyone to like me and be my friend, but it gets tough when you work in the newspaper business.
I still am not used to the hateful comments by people who have never met me, the rude emails asking me why I suck and the demeaning vibe 50 percent of the people I meet give off solely because I work in the media.
I sometimes find myself just wanting to ask, “Will you please just be my friend?” I’m really nice and mostly fun to be around. Plus, I make a mean tater tot casserole.
But, sadly, I now know that strategy is slightly flawed.