I recently lost a 40-year friendship after a disagreement. It shook me — not because disagreements are unusual, but because this relationship had survived so much over the years. I found myself asking: Why do some relationships last a lifetime, while others end suddenly, even when so much good history exists?
Over the years I’ve noticed a pattern. Many friendships are tied to a season, a shared interest, or a situation. At school, I had close friends, but when we graduated, most of those friendships quietly faded. Later, I found community in circles of worship and faith — and while most of us went our separate ways, a few connections still hold.
It’s the same with hobbies. If I’m mountain biking, I’ll naturally form close friendships in that space. But if I stop biking, many of those friendships will slowly dissolve, not out of conflict, but simply because life moves us on. Every so often, though, two bikers remain friends for a lifetime.
So, what makes the difference?
I believe part of it is shared values. Another part is that hard-to-explain chemistry — the way two people just “get” each other. But one of the most powerful — and most overlooked — factors is this: the story we tell ourselves about the other person’s heart.
When we trust someone’s intention, we view their actions in a generous light. But when small seeds of doubt creep in, every action can be reinterpreted through suspicion. Over time, those doubts form a narrative — a story about who the other person “really is.” And once that picture hardens, even a small disagreement can confirm it and cause a friendship to collapse.
The same pattern plays out quietly in corporate environments. When we believe a colleague, manager or team member means well, we interpret delays, decisions or blunt messages with patience. But let one or two moments plant doubt about their integrity, fairness or loyalty — and suddenly every email becomes loaded, every meeting feels political, and neutral actions are reinterpreted as threats or power plays. Before long, we are no longer working with a person — we are working against our idea of who we think they are. At that point, performance reviews, restructures, or even a passing comment can trigger disproportionate breakdowns, not because of the issue itself, but because it confirms a narrative that has already been written in silence.
Looking back, I think this is what happened between us. My friend had formed a picture of me based on a few defining moments, and I had done the same without fully realising it. In the end, our conversation wasn’t really about the disagreement itself, but about the stories we had each been carrying.
And herein lies the lesson. Communication isn’t just what fixes relationships — it’s what protects them. When we don’t talk, we fill the silence with assumptions. When we don’t ask, we supply our own answers. And slowly, those assumptions harden into truth.
This is not just about personal friendships. It happens in families, in teams, and in companies. Projects and positions may bring people together, but only communication and trust can hold them there.
We don’t need to agree on everything. We don’t even need to be close to everyone. But we can get along with most people, most of the time, if we learn to reserve judgment, give the benefit of the doubt, and choose real conversations over silent assumptions.
It took the end of a 40-year friendship for me to see this clearly. My challenge to you — as a leader, a colleague, a friend — is this: “Where have you let silence create a story about someone else’s heart? And what conversation could change that story?”
With love and respect.
Stefan Lessing
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