There was a time when seeing your friends required approximately three things:
A phone call.
A place.
And the vague understanding that everyone would eventually show up.
Now?
Seeing someone you love requires the logistical coordination of a minor international summit.
Are you free Friday?
This Friday? No. What about next Thursday?
Dinner or drinks?
Dinner.
I can do after 7:30.
I have something at 8.
Okay, what about the 19th?
Out of town.
The 26th?
Birthday dinner.
Okay, how does the second week of next month look?
And suddenly, you're making a reservation for tacos with someone who lives eleven minutes away.
By the time the night finally arrives, neither of you remembers what prompted the plans in the first place.
And I couldn't help but wonder:
When did friendship become something we had to schedule three weeks in advance?
We Should Get Together Soon
There may be no phrase in the English language more optimistic than:
We should get together soon.
We say it constantly.
At the grocery store.
In Instagram messages.
At someone else's birthday party.
When we run into an old friend and spend seven hurried minutes saying how ridiculous it is that we never see each other anymore.
We seriously need to get dinner.
Absolutely.
Let's actually do it.
And we mean it.
That's the strange part.
We're not lying.
We genuinely want to see these people.
We miss them.
We think about them.
We send them memes specifically tailored to their emotional damage.
We know what's happening in their lives because we've watched it unfold through a six-inch screen.
And yet somehow, actually sitting across from them requires an administrative assistant.
Apparently, We're All Very Important Now
Maybe adulthood is simply the slow accumulation of things that need us.
Jobs.
Partners.
Children.
Homes.
Appointments.
Families.
Laundry.
Dogs.
Side projects.
Gym memberships we feel guilty about not using.
There is always something.
And because everything has a place on the calendar, eventually friendship had to get one too.
Tuesday: dentist.
Wednesday: work dinner.
Thursday: soccer.
Friday: see person I have loved for fifteen years.
There is something slightly depressing about that.
Not because putting friendship on the calendar means we care less.
Maybe it means we care enough to protect the time.
But friendship used to feel like part of life.
Now it sometimes feels like another appointment inside it.
Remember When We Used to Just Show Up?
There was a particular kind of friendship that existed before everyone became so scheduled.
Someone came over without a reason.
You sat on the kitchen counter.
You ordered food.
Nobody had cleaned the house.
Nobody asked what time they needed to leave.
You weren't necessarily doing anything.
That was the point.
Some of the best nights weren't planned.
They happened because somebody said, What are you doing?
And somebody else said, Nothing.
A word that has apparently disappeared from the adult vocabulary.
Now if someone asks what we're doing Saturday, we instinctively consult a device.
Apparently, none of us can remember our own lives anymore.
Friendship Got an Upgrade
Perhaps part of the problem is that seeing friends became an event.
We don't just hang out.
We make reservations.
We try the new restaurant.
We buy tickets.
We get dressed.
We drive somewhere.
We spend money.
We take pictures.
Then we post the pictures so everyone knows we still have friends.
Even friendship has become slightly performative.
And once seeing someone requires a reservation, an outfit, parking and $86, of course we can't do it every Tuesday.
Maybe we don't need another dinner reservation.
Maybe we need someone's couch.
The Group Chat Is Not a Place
Technology was supposed to make staying connected easier.
And technically, it did.
We can know nearly everything about someone without actually seeing them.
We know they got promoted.
We know their kid lost a tooth.
We know they're renovating the kitchen.
We know they went to Italy.
We know they're furious about something their mother-in-law said because the group chat received seventeen messages about it at 10:42 p.m.
We're constantly connected.
But connection and company aren't exactly the same thing.
A heart reaction isn't laughing across a table.
A voice note isn't the look someone gives you when you've said something completely inappropriate.
And sending I miss you isn't quite the same as being missed in person.
Maybe we've gotten so good at keeping up with each other that we've stopped noticing how long it's been since we've actually been together.
Then Life Got Serious
Of course, friendships change because life changes.
People get married.
People have children.
People move.
Careers become demanding.
Parents need help.
Money gets tight.
Energy gets tighter.
The spontaneous Tuesday night that was easy at twenty-two becomes significantly more complicated at thirty-two.
That's not a failure.
It's adulthood.
But I wonder if sometimes we accept the distance a little too easily.
We tell ourselves everyone is busy.
Everyone understands.
We'll get together eventually.
And usually, we do.
Three Thursdays from now between 6:30 and 8:15.
But friendship has always depended on something slightly inconvenient:
showing up.
Not liking the post.
Not sending the birthday text.
Not saying we need to do this more often at the end of the one dinner we managed to schedule this quarter.
Actually showing up.
Maybe Friendship Doesn't Need an Occasion
Perhaps we need to lower the production value.
Come over.
The house is messy.
Dinner is whatever happens to be in the refrigerator.
Wear sweatpants.
Bring nothing.
Stay for twenty minutes or three hours.
There doesn't need to be a restaurant.
There doesn't need to be an activity.
There doesn't even need to be a particularly good reason.
Because maybe what we're missing isn't friendship.
Maybe it's proximity.
The ordinary kind.
The kind where someone sees the laundry on the chair.
The kind where nobody takes a picture.
The kind where you start talking about absolutely nothing and somehow end up discussing your childhood, your marriage, whether you should quit your job and why one specific person from high school still watches every Instagram story but never follows you.
The conversations you could never have scheduled.
Put Me Down for Nothing
Maybe calendars aren't the enemy.
Life really is busy.
And sometimes putting someone on the calendar is exactly how we make sure the people we love don't get whatever scraps of time are left over.
But I don't want friendship to become another obligation we're proud of completing.
I don't want to look at someone I love and think:
Great. We got our dinner in.
I want the occasional phone call that begins with:
What are you doing?
And I want us to get better at answering:
Nothing. Come over.
Because maybe the people who matter shouldn't always need an invitation three weeks in advance.
Maybe sometimes they just need to know the door is open.
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