At 27, my definition of friendship was simple: the people I spent the most time with were my friends. If there was a concert, an art opening, a spontaneous Friday night out, we just went together. No overthinking, no scheduling weeks in advance. Shared experiences were the glue, and I assumed they always would be.
Back then, "I enjoy being around you" often really meant "I enjoy what we're doing right now." The connection was real, but it was built around situations — around noise, events, things happening. Friendship felt easy because it didn't ask much of me. It was just there, always within reach, and I never questioned it.
Then life moved on. Everyone got jobs, partners, routines of their own. Spontaneous evenings became scheduled weeks in advance — and then sometimes months. A few friendships quietly faded, not because anything went wrong, but because we simply drifted out of each other's lives. No argument, no falling out. Just distance.
At 37, I see friendship in a completely different light
Maybe it's less romantic than the version I had at 27. But it's so much deeper and more real. I've come to understand that what keeps a friendship alive isn't having the same taste in music or the same weekend hobbies. It's paying attention to each other. It's choosing to make time — not just when it's convenient.
I've also realized that conversation matters more than any shared experience. Not the surface-level "so what's new with you?" kind, but the real thing — being genuinely present, actually curious about what the other person is saying. Not just waiting for your turn to speak. Sometimes all it takes is a phone call at the end of a long day.
These days, I deeply appreciate when someone simply asks: "How was your day?" At 27, I might have found that question boring — something people say when they've run out of things to talk about. Now I know better. Sometimes that one small question means more than a five-day festival or a long weekend trip together.
The care is in the question itself. That someone thinks of you even when there's no special occasion to prompt it.
Shared interests still matter, of course. They make connection easier and give you a natural common language. But they're no longer what I look for most. What matters far more is seeing the world in a similar way — valuing the same things: honesty, loyalty, genuine attention. Those are the foundations that hold a friendship together over the long run, even when life pulls you in completely different directions.
I've also had to learn that friendships need to be tended to. You can't take them for granted. Sometimes I have to be the one to text first, to call, to make the plan. And yes, sometimes that feels like effort. Sometimes I don't feel like doing it at all. But that's okay — friendship sometimes means showing up even when it's inconvenient. Because it's worth it.
