We sit in the middle of my parents’ living room floor - me, my sister, Sam, and Jess - surrounded by old photo albums, sharing stories that we’ve laughed and reminisced about hundreds of times. I appreciate these childhood friendships and how they stand the test of time. We’ve known the Rice family since me and Sam’s pre-school days. Being painfully shy as a young kid, I much preferred sitting on a chair in the corner of the classroom, watching the clock and waiting for my mom to pick me up. But Sam was rather adamant that I leave my chair and come play with her, and here we are many decades later perusing through pictures of family trips, ones that capture a phase of life in which we were awkward but happy kids with glasses, fanny packs, bad haircuts, and interesting outfit choices.
As I get older, I’m more appreciative of these kinds of friendships, ones in which you can live entirely separate lives but still pick up right where you left off as if no time has passed. I’m not certain how much time plays a factor in all of it, but I suppose the sense of shared history helps. The scrapbooks are a deep well we can dip into while we adjust to new versions of each other that are growing, changing, and adapting. But ultimately, there remains a core sense of who we’ve always been to one another.
In my experience, friendships are harder to find as you age. And I can’t quite figure out why. Perhaps it’s a lack of shared experiences, less tolerance for someone else’s quirks and odd habits, or a tendency to be more selective and cautious with any kind of relationship. Certainly, there’s an element of intrigue offered by the foreignness of strangers, an opportunity to redefine yourself with a group of people who don’t know you inside and out. But more often than not, it seems that new acquaintances don’t turn into genuine, lasting connections. It’s not as though you don’t feel welcomed. But you retain an awareness of not fully belonging, of being an extra piece that doesn’t really fit in the fully formed design.
Perhaps some of this is also a result of my introverted tendencies. There was a period of time where I used to fantasize about living off the grid in a cabin in the woods with only books, a dog, and a lifetime supply of wine to keep me company. But then I quit drinking and also realized that my notions about living off the grid were more romantic than practical.
I once read somewhere that being introverted doesn’t necessarily mean you don’t like people. It’s just that your nervous system is better equipped for spending time with one or two human beings instead of a large group. As someone who often feels overstimulated to the point of being physically uncomfortable in large groups, this resonated with me. My go-to move at large events in which I don’t know many people is to take an excessive number of trips to the bathroom, mostly so I can just hide in the stall and recharge for a few minutes without having to navigate awkward conversations about the weather with strangers.
It could also be the dawn of the virtual era where almost anything can be done via Zoom, an app, or social media. Post-pandemic, the idea of doing something with other humans after an eight-hour work day sounds about as appealing as scraping gum off the undersides of tables. I would hedge that about 95% of the events I claim to be “interested” in on Facebook I never actually attend. And while I appreciate the ability to be honest about not feeling up to socializing with friends, it makes it difficult to fully commit to social gatherings when there’s a 50/50 chance that one or more of us might bail anyway.
There’s a different level of effort required now in comparison to the friendships I made in my 20s. I think I was less bothered in young adulthood by the initial feeling of being uncomfortable when meeting new people. Life was organized around gathering places that everyone visited on a regular basis. You’d go out in groups, make friends, and their friends became yours too. At that age, it felt easier to endure the temporary discomfort required to build a community and find relationships of mutual benefit in which your likes, dislikes, and interests aligned organically.
Some of these endured. Others started to feel awkward and forced as time passed, like a pair of jeans that no longer fit. For a brief while, you’d squeeze into that old identity, knowing that it didn’t feel the same, trying to ignore the tight waist band and the button digging into your stomach. But once you got home and peeled them off, feeling the instant relief, you came around to accepting that they don’t quite fit like they once did. They’re now a fond memory that fit better on a past version of you.
The ease of mutual alignment that was present in my friendships as a young adult has faded as people’s interests have diverged. Many of my friends are focused on building careers. Some are even adding marriage and kids to the mix. The spontaneity of being able to get together within an hour's notice has all but disappeared. What was once a relationship of mutual benefit now requires a mutual commitment. And it’s not really a topic that comes up in casual conversation.
I suppose forming into groups of like-minded people is part of our humanness, our search for a sense of belonging. When you’re seeking to create a space that feels intimate, not everyone can be in it. As you build community, you will inevitably exclude some people as you seek to include others. I like to think most of us don’t do it with malicious intent. Depending on the time and place in your life, you might emphasize more of one than the other. There will be friendships that last decades. The ones that shift and change. And then there will be those where changes in priorities and focus will make it difficult to be friends.
We all have a need to connect, to be understood, to find companionship. And much like we project ahead for things like saving for retirement and paying the mortgage, at some point, the same kind of deal applies to friendships. I’m beginning to recognize that friendships later in life require that I be more intentional about seeking out social connections. Sometimes, it feels like people show up in your life right when you need them. And other times they leave, making room for someone else to come in. Perhaps adult friendships aren’t exactly what I thought they’d be. But hopefully, with the right combination of effort, honesty, and communication, they can be the kind of relationships that bring out the best in me.
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