The silence struck us as soon as we reached the gate, and in that moment, the weight of being alone in a huge house with my husband felt almost suffocating. It was not that I had a problem with him; quite the opposite, in fact. I love him deeply, and he loves me in return. But he is not my friend, and I cannot pretend otherwise. Not that there is anything wrong with him as an individual; he is a standup guy, a decent human being. But he is not someone I would call a friend. He is the guy I can depend on, the father of our children, and the one I could always count on when things get tough. But when it came to friendship? He is just not the one and I have no problem with that.
So here we were, my husband and I, standing at the threshold of our lives after dropping him off at the airport. The thought of the years ahead, alone in this big house, was daunting.
For years I plugged my friendship void with my children; especially my youngest son. I could count him as a friend, even though I knew that one day he would have to move on, like the rest of them. Despite their gentle urgings, I had delayed forming new friendships, reluctant to face the reality that they would soon be gone. My youngest, in an act of love, even chose to continue his secondary education from home, so that he could stay close to me and give me the companionship I craved. But then, university came calling, and he had to move across the world. So here we were, my husband and I, standing at the threshold of our lives after dropping him off at the airport. The thought of the years ahead, alone in this big house, was daunting.
Many parents talk about looking forward to the time their children leave home, but I think it is different for those of us who are not socially well-adjusted. For years, I had poured my heart into my family and work. My circle of colleagues and acquaintances was vast, but my actual friendships were few. A busy life filled with raising children, managing a full-time job, and caring for elderly parents left little room for socializing. Now, with an empty house and a growing sense of loneliness, I began to realize just how much I had neglected the friendships I needed. I had even developed a habit of talking to myself, and my family half-jokingly assumed I had an imaginary friend. What I had, though, was a deep and undeniable loneliness.
If you are in this age bracket, ask yourself; apart from family, how many close friends do you have? You can define “close” however seems appropriate to you.
Though I had never been the most social person, I always had one or two close friends I could rely on. Yet, as I entered my 40s, I noticed a sharp decline in the strength and number of these friendships. This is not just a personal experience, it is something many people in my generation struggle with. I also noticed that most of my friends in their 40s and 50s are struggling with maintaining existing friendships or fostering new ones. If you are in this age bracket, ask yourself; apart from family, how many close friends do you have? You can define “close” however seems appropriate to you. For example, I have close friends who live near me and close friends who don’t. A close friend can be someone you talk to constantly… or someone you might not talk to every day or every week but nonetheless understand your relationship to them as “close.” Now that you have an approximate number, think about how that number has changed as you have aged. How many close friends did you have in high school? In your 20s? In your 30s or 40s?
I always thought that as you moved through life, you just kept accumulating friends, layering new relationships onto existing ones. But looking at studies, I am not surprised that in my 50s, I have no one I could claim as a close friend outside of my family. According to research, 38 percent of adults say they have five or more close friends. Another 55 percent say they have between one and four close friends, and 8 percent report having no close friends at all. What is even more interesting is that 49 percent of adults 65 and older say they have five or more close friends; clearly, socializing gets easier as we grow older, but only for those who have invested in friendships all along. For people between 30 and 49, that number drops to 32 percent, and for those younger than 30, it is 30 percent.
When I was younger, I was part of a close-knit group of eight friends. Over time, the group loosened due to distance, careers, marriages and deaths. The last time we met, we reached a consensus that we had outgrown whatever it was that had brought us together and we were better off going separate ways. We still send the occasional birthday and holiday message, but other than that, there is no significant connection.
As expected, within a few years, many of the relationships I had once thought would last a lifetime withered.
After the disintegration of the group, I tried to make other connections, but soon I realized that while they seemed solid, the relationships often felt more like obligations tied to major life events; weddings, graduations, or children. Were these friendships genuine, or just rituals we participated in out of habit? As expected, within a few years, many of the relationships I had once thought would last a lifetime withered.
Experts say you are the average of the five people you spend the most time with. So, I find myself at a loss of choices because I want to surround myself with only people who share my values and can influence me positively.
Simon Sinek, in his work, has highlighted the importance of friendships for our mental well-being. According to him, those with close friends are less likely to fall into destructive behaviors. I wholeheartedly agree. Without meaningful friendships, I find myself indulging in unhealthy habits to fill the emotional void. While my colleagues look forward to weekend plans with friends, I focus on ensuring I have enough wine to get through mine.
But I know friendships do not just materialize; they require effort. I have tried, over the years, to cultivate deeper relationships, but it always felt too chaotic. I remember one colleague I hoped could become a friend. We had a few nights out together, but by the end of our last hangout, I was so disoriented by her behavior that I was grateful she could not read my thoughts.
At one point, I even tried to turn my husband into a friend. After drunkenly confiding in him about trying to get pregnant for years, his reaction made me realize I had made a mistake. We often place too much of our emotional needs on our partners, expecting them to fulfill roles they are not equipped to. There are some things your partner must never know; these are the secrets you reserve for your friends. For instance, I know without a doubt that my girlfriends would have found my efforts to get “an accident” pregnancy hilarious.
To try and make up for my dearth of friendships, I have filled my life with podcasts and digital content creators. These voices, though not physically present, feel like a new form of community. Their insights deeply resonate with me and I think of them as part of my “inner circle.” The irony, however, is that while these podcasts provide a sense of connection, they also leave me feeling isolated. Their intimacy is comforting, but it cannot replace the gloriously messy and yet fulfilling warmth of real-life friendships.
The value of true friendships remains irrefutable. Now that I am finally on my own, I am acutely aware of how much one or two friends would make a difference in my life. In particular, I find myself longing for my childhood friend; the one who always had my back, even when life pulled us in different directions. When we reconnected after years of silence, it felt like no time had passed. But, over time, even this friendship has grown distant.
The real question is: How much can you ask for from a friendship before it begins to tip into something unbalanced?
At this stage of my life, it is crucial to start making friends. For me, common qualities and habits help. I prefer someone female. About my age. Sense of humor. I would not choose a friend who goes out partying all night, much as I would want to fool myself; my physiology cannot be fooled. But I also do not want a total bore; sorry, that position is already taken by me. I want someone who is adventurous to a reasonable extent. I want a friend who is in the same income status; not because I would feel uncomfortable with an extremely wealthier person, but because I want someone I can relate to. I wouldn’t know what to say if, for instance, my friend started complaining about the state of their yacht and their second private jet. Of course, it is superficially nice to have such a friend, but in theory, if friendship is about give and take, I would not want to be the taker all the time. What do you give to someone who has everything? But would I accept a friend who takes more than she gives? The real question is: How much can you ask for from a friendship before it begins to tip into something unbalanced? It is a delicate dance between giving and receiving. I suppose what I seek is simple; genuine companionship, the kind where the effort flows both ways, where there is reciprocity and yes; where there is room for a little bit of laughter along the way.
