Friendship is uniquely suited to fill this void because, unlike matrimony or parenthood, it’s available to everyone, offering concord and even intimacy without aspiring to be all-consuming. Friends do things for us that hardly anybody else can, yet ask nothing more than friendship in return (though this can be a steep price if we take friendship as seriously as we should). The genius of friendship rests firmly on its limitations, which are better understood as boundaries. Think of it as the moderate passion—constrained, yet also critical. If friendship, as hardheaded Lord Byron would have it, really is “love without his wings,” we can all be grateful for its earthbound nature.

From a wonderful essay in The Wilson Quarterly titled America: Land of Loners?. (Via Farbod)

Sometimes I love attention from men. But when it’s respectful and when I clearly indicate that I want it. Guys, here is how you tell if a girl is interested: if she makes direct eye contact with you, smiles, and asks you questions, then she probably wouldn’t mind getting to know you. (If you’re British and you’re in America, you’re pretty much given an automatic green light. This is a half-joke.) If she’s mumbling, looking down, closing off her space to you, and gives short answers, she wants you to leave. She’s just been conditioned to think that she can’t say, “Get the fuck away from me.” There are LOTS OF WOMEN, I KNOW, WHO CAN SAY THAT. And who have every right. But I’m just not one of them. I can’t. I have to to think of myself first. I can’t worry that you, strange man in a bar, is going to flip out when I reject you harshly.

From Stop Hitting On Me. So tempted to print this on a flyer and hand it out to every man between here and downtown Atlanta.

Also see: Guest Blogger Starling: Schrödinger’s Rapist: or a guy’s guide to approaching strange women without being maced

I learned this lesson the hard way. I blogged about my breakup that started in February 2007, here, on Vox, and on Yahoo! 360. This was shortly before SXSW 2007.

Blogging was cathartic for me. But it also put my ex on blast, and opened us both up to a lot of questions about why we were splitting. I distinctly remember having uncomfortable conversations at SXSW about what was happening, especially since most of my SXSW crew had met the ex at SXSW 2006. The ex was also drilled by his rather large circle of friends and acquaintances.

I even argued with the ex about whether and where I should blog — Vox was the community where my peoples played; Yahoo! 360 was where his friend’s stayed, though I was connected to his friends there. If I had to blog, he wanted to know, why did I have to blog there and not where my friends were?

It made an uncomfortable situation worse — more for him than for me (win!) — but I decided that I’d rethink being so public about relationships in the future.

Then came Twitter, which, thanks to its ambient intimacy, made staying involved in my friend’s lives a lot easier. Even though we were, in some cases, separated by 2,100+ miles and three time zones, we still had this wonderful sense of connection.

SXSW 2008, then, was markedly different. I didn’t need to catch up on what was happening with my friends. We could just enjoy some real-world face time. I felt my online friendships slowly melting into offline ones.

One friendship in particular had changed in a palpable way. After some Twitter conversations, surprising dreams, and a series of private-plurks, I found myself on a plane to Los Angeles for Labor Day Weekend.

First and foremost, our trip was about seeing each other and having fun as friends. We have always had an easy way with each other, and some of the absolute best times I’ve had since 2005 — the year we met at SXSW — have involved him.

But we also knew this was about a potential love thing shaped by, if not directly attributable, to Twitter and Plurk.

We both live our lives in the digital public, and are generally open about things. We also, however, have a sense of privacy and boundaries. This tension came out in weird ways, particularly around whether and what to tweet. Is it an innocent tweet, or a double-entendre? Do I mention our visit to Frederick’s of Hollywood? What about those hilarious one-liners that are almost too good not to share, but would reveal what we did and how?

Ultimately, we were both concerned with how things would be (mis)construed. And what kinds of intrusive questions would arise from those who know us, and those who think they know us?

And while I’m at it, what about us? I’m not sure I was ready to officially state what was up between us, even though our friends knew instinctively. What’s said offline and hinted at through a carefully-crafted, semi-private tweet is, still, in many ways, deniable. If things didn’t work out, the details would be obscured if not concealed.

But what’s expressed publicly and tagged with my name? That’s big. And brave. And Google-able. And cache-able. It’s a huge leap of faith in our friends, our acquaintances, and most of all, in whatever this is between us.