They used to include me in everything. Then I started asking questions. Now my Saturday nights are free. Coincidence?
New Year’s Eve is tomorrow, and for the first time in eleven years, I wasn’t invited to Marcus’s party. Marcus has been my friend since college. We were in each other’s weddings. We’ve shared things I can’t mention in print. And now, apparently, he’s “keeping it small this year.”
Small enough to exclude me. Not small enough to exclude Derek, who posts pictures with his craft beers and never questions anything. Make that make sense.
When Growth Looks Like Loss
Here’s what my old friends stopped inviting me to: brunches, game nights, Marcus’s party, happy hours, that weekend trip to Austin they definitely planned without telling me. It started about two years ago. Right around the time I woke up.
They say I “changed.” I did change. I started asking questions. I stopped accepting narratives. I began seeing patterns that they’re either too blind or too scared to acknowledge. And suddenly, I’m “too intense for trivia night.” Suddenly, I “make things weird.”
My buddy Jason said I “bring everything back to politics.” I asked him when everything stopped being about politics. He said “see, that’s exactly what I mean” and then the group text went quiet for three days.
The Awakening Tax
Nobody tells you this when you take the red pill: you lose people. The awakening costs you friendships, relationships, dinner invitations. It’s a tax you pay for seeing clearly. Most people aren’t willing to pay it. That’s why most people stay asleep.
I used to have a standing poker game every other Thursday. Eight guys. Been going for six years. Last month I showed up and Kevin’s wife said Kevin “forgot to mention” it was canceled. It wasn’t canceled. They moved it to Saturday. Without me. Kevin’s wife wouldn’t meet my eyes.
These are the same people who said they’d “always be there.” They meant they’d always be there as long as I stayed who I was. The moment I started growing, they started pruning.
What My Empty Calendar Proves
My girlfriend—we’ve been dating eight months, she’s not fully awake yet but she’s asking good questions—says I should “reach out” and “make an effort.” I told her I did make an effort. I tried to help them see what I see. I shared articles. I asked questions. I offered perspective.
They didn’t want perspective. They wanted the old Garrett, the one who laughed at their jokes and didn’t point out contradictions and never mentioned that maybe—just maybe—the things they believe aren’t as solid as they think.
So now I spend my Saturday nights reading. Researching. Getting sharper while they get softer. And tomorrow, while Marcus and the gang are doing whatever they’re doing without me, I’ll be here. Ready. Awake.
They say losing friends means you’re doing something wrong. I say losing the wrong friends means you’re finally doing something right. My old friends stopped inviting me because I stopped fitting in. And fitting in was never the goal.
The goal was waking up. Mission accomplished.
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