I drove up the 101 the other night and was listening to NPR. The Pacific reflected the Santa Monica lights as I headed north. They were replaying a segment on the decline of friendships, which had originally aired a few months back. It highlighted that 2009 saw a noticeable downward shift in friendships and attributed our dependence on smartphones to much of the reason. Before that, a decline occurred in the 1950s when TVs became a common household asset for American families. Apparently, screens pulling people apart isn’t a new thing.

For most of my adult life, I prided myself on being a model friend. It was a self-proclaimed badge of honor I proudly wore. While there were other areas in my life where I was left longing for more, my friendships were an area of sincere fulfillment. They came easily, and those friends got the best parts of me.

Over the past few years, however, many of my closest friendships have faded or disappeared. This caused a bit of an identity crisis for me, and I wondered if I was a good friend after all. Post-cross-country move, post-marriage and stepchildren, and post-COVID-19 lockdown, few true friendships remain in my life. I am so grateful for those who are grounding forces for good in my life. A lots I survey the new landscape, a lot has changed.

Candidly, I have a lot less time to give now, as do my friends, but I believe there is still a case for authentic relationships even in these busy and distracted days.

I hate this … but, I recall judging women whom I considered dear friends for how they were able to show up—or not show up. For example, I was inwardly critical of friends who could only hang out after their kids went to bed and only if I was willing to go to their house. Now, after having a family, and a much more demanding work life, I understand those friends must have really wanted to hang out if they were willing to sacrifice that precious window of time after their kids had gone to bed. Most people would rather get caught up on the latest Netflix series or go to bed early.

A few lessons have surfaced through hard conversations with friends and in my lonely moments:

· Clear is kind. We can manage expectations by sharing scheduling restraints, preferences, disappointments, etc.
· You are allowed to change your mind, and I am too. Sometimes plans don’t work out. That doesn’t make anyone flaky. It simply means life happens, and we can and should assume positive intent and practice compassion.
· The seasonality of friendship is real, and this in no way diminishes the depth of the relationship that exists—or existed.

Adult friendship is hard. Gone are the days of large swaths of free time and few responsibilities. Honestly, there is a real temptation to cut out any relationship that isn’t necessary. On the other side of my season of friendship heartbreak, I can attest to this: there is beauty in the complicated messiness that comes from opening our hearts and lives to each other. I truly do not know what I would have done without my friends. I recall the friend who showed up at my house the day my dad died, with pastries and a hug. It was during the lockdown when we weren’t supposed to be within 6 feet of each other, let alone hug, and she said, “there was no way I wasn’t coming over”. I remember karaoke & wine nights, friends who invited me into their wedding parties, and even the delivery room. There is real life shared in these vulnerable times. People are both inconvenient and indispensable, even in seasons where it looks different. It is worth the work.

*A good listen on this topic