Detached Love

(lyrics here)

Friends forever?

My senior year of high school was not as carefree as I had once thought it would be. Not only was I juggling six AP classes, the stress of college applications, orchestra, and a job, but one of my best friends decided that her relationship with her boyfriend was more important than that of her friends. This friend was not a fleeting presence who just flitted in and out of my life, but one whom I had been friends with since elementary school.

Initially, I was upset to the point of tears. What had I done wrong? I had only ever been the best friend I could be: we had always had fun together, and rarely fought. I had been there for her during times of strife, had indulged in her random whims and had even humored her when she was clearly in the wrong. I decided that I could not lose the friendship, despite her clear attempts to sever, or at least weaken the bond. Just like Siddhartha with his son, I “sought to win [her] heart with love and kind patience, and I intend[ed] to capture it.” (Hesse 111)

Even in friendship, there must be a certain degree of detachment.

This struggle lasted all senior year, stretched through the summer, and continued even through the distance of college. I saw her intermittently, and although we were not hostile, I felt that she had changed. She was no longer the odd, spunky girl who unplugged every plug in the house for environmental purposes, but this new cookie-cutter person of whom we used to spite. While we were still “friends”, I knew that she was now a part of something to which I could no longer relate. Even after all that time and distance, “the wound still burned” (Hesse 122).

At that time, my mother acted as my Vasudeva, and told me much of the same thing he told Siddhartha: ““I see you suffering, but you’re suffering a pain which is somewhat laughable, and at which you’ll soon be laughing yourself.” (Hesse 116) At the time, I could not imagine just “dropping it” and moving on, but as time passed, I began to realize that, while I still loved my friend very much, I no longer had the same emotional attachment to her that I had previously.

Over spring break, I had coffee with her for the first time since Christmas, and I was surprised at how forgiving I was with the ways in which she had changed. True, she was now friends with a new group of people, but the person she was had not changed; she still had a good heart and still wanted the best for people. Like Siddhartha, “I understood…and shared [her] life, which was not guided by thoughts and insight, but only by urges and wishes.” (Hesse 120)

Detachment and love: can they go hand in hand?

This experience, more than anything, taught me about detached love. As much as I loved my friend, I had to learn to maintain a certain mindset, and most importantly, not place as much emotional stake in a relationship. While I wanted the best for her, my definition of “the best” was who I wanted her to be, not who she wanted. I believe that love with detachment for me relates very closely to tolerance, in that I need to see “people living for themselves, [see] them achieve an infinite amount for themselves, endure an infinite amount.” (Hesse 121), and not define my love for them based on my idea of achievements.