What I’ve learned about trying to make friends in adulthood

When I was newly single in my early 30s I found myself wondering where all the men were until somebody kindly informed me “all the good ones are taken at our age”. Thankfully, this turned out to be false, but I found myself thinking about that comment again several years later, having moved cities and left behind my cherished group of friends. I wondered, were all the good friends already taken at our age too?

I have always made friends easily in the past – I love people and I love finding out about them. I think part of the reason I became a journalist was so I could ask people nosy questions without being called rude. But making friends in my 30s turned out to be a challenging prospect. By this age, most people have already established their tight-knit, impenetrable circles of friends.

It was a bit of a culture shock having to make an effort again, having to put my best foot forward and sell myself a little. I didn't have much succes

I set about finding friends with the determination of an optimistic singleton signing up to Tinder for the first time. In fact, the parallels between trying to find a friend and trying to find a romantic partner are quite striking.

It was a bit of a culture shock having to make an effort again, having to put my best foot forward and sell myself a little. I didn’t have much success. I began to wonder had I overvalued myself, like one of those internet start-ups that floats itself on the stock market too soon. Maybe I didn’t need to make friends anyway, I told myself gloomily. I had a husband and children, and surely that was enough company for anyone. But we are social animals and without social connection, I turn into an Eeyore-like figure, moping mournfully from room to room.

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The first thing I learned about looking for new friends was not to come on too strong or you’ll scare people off. If you passed the time of day with me in a GP’s waiting room back then, I would probably be suggesting we swap numbers by the time my name was called out by the doctor.

My long-distance friends and affable locals tried to help by setting me up on friend dates. “Do you know who you’d love. . .,” they’d say. “You should really meet X.” Invariably, I’d meet X and we would pass an awkward half hour in a coffee shop before parting, promising to do this again some time, then briskly deleting each other’s numbers. Chemistry exists in all types of relationships, and friendship is no exception.

I realised I would have to put myself out there, make more of an effort to meet people if I wanted to make friends. So I joined the local mother-and-baby group and toughed out the hour-long conversations about reflux, breastfeeding and colic. I enrolled in a night class and left my cosy fireside in the dark January evenings just so I could sit in a cold room with strangers. At one point, I was in four different book clubs until I realised that the amount of reading I had to do was negatively impacting the amount of free time I had to actually meet new people.

Friendship is just for fun and in some very special cases, it can be as deep and rewarding as any romantic relationship

But just as with love, things can happen when you least expect them to. At a book launch one day, I met someone. She was funny. She got my deadpan jokes. And we had the same interests. To my delight, she asked for my number and soon after that, she introduced me to another friend who she assured me I would love and, this time, it turned out to be the case.

Once the air of desperation that had lingered around me for months started to dissipate, I started to meet more friends. When I met a woman who made me laugh so much I thought I might suffocate if I didn’t take a breath soon, I knew it was the real thing. The previous year of trying to make friends had taught me that connecting with someone on this level was rare and I wasn’t going to leave it to chance that we would meet again.

I’m not ashamed to say, I embarked on a campaign to woo her. I knew it was her birthday soon after. I wanted to buy her a present but I worried that it might seem weird, a bit intense, considering we had just met. So instead, I decided to play it cool. . . by writing her a humorous poem in the form of a villanelle, which, looking back on it now, is about as creepily intense as you can get. Luckily for me, she didn’t seem to mind and we have been friends ever since.

What is so special about friendship is the purity of its nature. It’s a voluntary act bestowed upon us. Nobody is obliged to be anyone’s friend. Nor is friendship freighted by the needs and expectations, the sexual complexities or familial duties that might define our other relationships. Friendship is just for fun and in some very special cases, it can be as deep and rewarding as any romantic relationship.

That’s why it’s so worth the trouble of seeking it out and – if you’re very lucky – finding it.