Sometime last week I went on a Facebook purge; it felt fantastic. I kicked old boyfriends off my "friends" list, along with people I would see at parties but had never seen sober. There were people I knew in passing but couldn’t actually stand to be around for any length of time, people with whom I’d had classes but not conversations, nice family people with children who posted scary links to violent abortion videos in the run-up to the election.

Let us not get into what constitutes the definition of "friend" in the online age; after all, I feel closer to many of the people who read this blog than I do most of the people in my office whom I see in person every day. I enjoy the online activity of getting to keep up with people’s day-ins and day-outs, even if we don’t speak on the phone. (Personally, I rather hate talking on the phone for long periods of time with almost anyone; it makes me nervous and uncomfortable, and I always hang up feeling I’ve made an ass of myself and monopolized the conversation).

Suffice it to say, this has been the year when I’ve re-evaluated what friendship actually does mean to me. I’ve long since come to terms with the fact that while I’m great at parties, I’m good in conversation, at a different level I’m actually very shy. I’m slow to open up, and easy to hurt. It’s easy for me to make acquaintances, hard for me to make friends.

Back in the day I figured this meant I was screwed up; of late I’ve come to accept it as part of my personality, no more inextricable than my sense of humor or the feeling of awe I get when I’m on the prairies. It has no value in and of itself; it just is. I say this because I feel like in my life I’ve had a lot of people get frustrated with me because I don’t open all the way up at once. I used to try to change. I ended up constantly over-sharing and feeling more awkward and uncomfortable.

Of late I’ve become very, very safe and comfortable in my own skin. I should’ve known that would present a whole new set of challenges. This year, those challenges have come in the form of friendships that have, for whatever reason, ended.

It’s hit me like a bolt this year, the realization going through me me like it was shot out of a gun: friendships fail, and sometimes that’s okay. Sometimes it has to do with the fact that two people have hurt one another, or learned to distrust one another, have endured so much disappointment and letdown from one another, that to attempt repair would only cause more harm. More often, people grow in two different directions and find themselves suddenly on two different continents, the need they had, the bond, stretched thin or dissolved. Sometimes, things blow up.

I’d say I’ve been witness and subject to all of the above this year. Some of it has been more painful than others; at times I’ve found myself atop Oklahoma’s highest point in tearful and peaceful prayer, holding on to some shred of understanding. Other times I’ve resisted the urge to pick up the phone and unleash a torrent of foul name-calling that would make Eminem blush. And everything in between.

I remember being in high school and going off to camp, and writing letters back and forth for 3 weeks with my new best friends, and then feeling like a failure when, for whatever reason, we all stopped keeping in contact. This isn’t like that; for the better part of this year I’ve been in the process of mourning. I think it’s natural for us to feel a sense of failure when we realize that, for whatever reason, the association we had with someone is over, or at least, on indefinite hiatus.

What I didn’t expect to feel was relief, as well. In most of these cases, some kind of confrontation would’ve been, at best, inappropriate, me bringing up old issues I hadn’t forgiven and challenging them to do the same. What it’s been instead is me, letting go of something that was dragging me down or holding me – and them – back. It’s been me, walking around the house, having very good conversations with people who weren’t actually in the room with me, and then, suddenly, not doing that anymore, because I felt better. I felt like I was beginning to let go, a little bit of the rope at a time. Forgiving them, and forgiving myself for the times I was a rotten friend.

Through these conversations I’ve realized what I need to do to be a better friend to the people I cherish, and while I’m assured of failure to some degree, I am looking forward to being better. This is me, being positive. This is me, renewed, and maybe a little worse for wear, for living through hurtful things that maybe I shouldn’t have, and for being hard on my own little self. This is me, still mourning but a little more free as well. It’s me, more optimistic, more clear-eyed about how to love people, and, for once, eager to break through the bonds of his own fear and try to make new and better friendships even though it scares him.