In the popular American sitcom New Girl, a twentysomething character named Nick Miller becomes friends with an old man named Tran. Despite not speaking a word, Tran’s silent counsel helps Nick navigate the challenges of adult life. This unique and beautiful friendship has made the entire series worth watching, even though it is often underrated.
Some fans speculate that Tran may be a figment of Nick’s imagination, a character reminiscent of Tyler Durden from Fight Club with a kind demeanor and infectious smile. Whether real or not, Tran represents the father or grandfather figure that Nick longs for. And I can relate to that, as I have had my own Tran-like figures in my life.
It feels strange when you become the oldest generation in your immediate family, especially when you’re in your twenties. I experienced this when my sister Ariella and I found ourselves in that position a few years ago. We had already lost our last surviving grandparent, and our parents were gone as well. We had no aunts or uncles to turn to. The absence of elders in my life didn’t immediately sink in as I was consumed by grief and other distractions. But eventually, I realized that something profound was missing.
This sense of lacking manifested in various ways. I felt frustrated not having anyone to ask about our family history, both the anecdotes and the medical aspects. I also started to experience deep existential anxiety about not having a safety net. What would happen if I made a mistake? Who would catch me if I fell? What if I ended up homeless? These are common concerns that people have when they lose their parents, but it hit me particularly hard at the age of 24.
As a result, I began seeking out the company and advice of older individuals who were of my parents’ and grandparents’ generations. Most of my Tran-like figures have been women, as I had a close bond with my mother and grandmother, and their absence was deeply felt. I regretted taking their presence and wisdom for granted when they were alive, but it’s a common occurrence that we only truly value something once it’s gone. I compare it to lactose tolerance or enjoying a favorite candy, like Fantales.
At first, my attraction to older people happened subconsciously, but over time, it became a deliberate choice. I don’t actively search for elderly individuals or hang out at retirement homes. You don’t need to hide your grandparents from me. But if I come across an older person with whom I share a connection, I try to nurture that relationship, and I usually benefit from it emotionally. There’s no need to lock away your silverware either.
Throughout the years, I have formed low-key bonds with many incredible, warm-hearted, and inspiring people. One of them was Shirley, my brother-in-law’s grandmother. We had known each other for years, but our relationship grew beyond occasional family gatherings. I would take her out for coffee, and she would share stories about her life and offer advice. Unfortunately, like with most friendships of this nature, our coffee club didn’t last very long.
There was also Antonia, a woman with a silver bob, big blue glasses, and a fearless attitude. We both frequented a local cafe, and our shared love for coffee, crosswords, and unconventional fashion brought us together. We would sit at adjacent tables, working on our word puzzles and exchanging thoughts. Antonia had led an exciting life as a writer and critic in the fashion and art circles of the UK during the 60s, 70s, and 80s. I learned most of her wild stories at her funeral, unfortunately.
Regrettably, there was also Belinda, whom I met in the same cafe. I seem to spend too much time in cafes, don’t I? I was initially drawn to Belinda for similar reasons as Antonia – her artistic nature. We would discuss books, films, and our creative endeavors. However, she turned out to be a narcissist with unchecked privilege and antisemitic views. Needless to say, it became a dealbreaker for our friendship.
There have been other Tran-like figures in my life, and I hope to meet more in the future. But for now, I find solace in conversations with my elderly neighbors. As I continue to age, as is inevitable, these intergenerational friendships become less intergenerational. I haven’t noticed any gray hairs yet, but the generation gap is slowly closing.
Perhaps when that gap closes in one direction, another will open. Maybe one day, I will become the Tran, an old lady sitting on a park bench or most likely in a cafe, befriending a young woman in need of support, guidance, or a grandmotherly figure. She will become the daughter or granddaughter I never had, representing a whole different kind of connection, without any references to New Girl.
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