The Friendship Speedrun

 

I've noticed something about myself over the years.

Whenever I meet somebody new and we start getting along, I feel this weird sense of urgency.

Not desperation. Not clinginess. Just urgency.

Like there's a clock running somewhere that only I can hear.

I don't think I was always like that.

When you're a kid, friendships just kind of happen. 

You sit next to somebody in class. 

You play the same sport. 

You live on the same street.

You both watch pro wrestling. 

Before you know it, you've been friends for five years and didn't even realize it.

Nobody is in a hurry because nobody is going anywhere.

As an adult, it feels completely different.

One thing I've learned working where I work is that people come and go.

Some people stay for twenty years.

Some people stay for twenty months.

Some people stay for twenty days.

You never really know.

I've seen people walk through the door, become part of my daily routine in one way or another, and then disappear, sometimes almost as quickly as they arrived.

Not in a bad way.

They got promoted.

Transferred.

Found a better opportunity.

Moved closer to family.

Life happened.

And honestly, good for them.

One thing I'll always do is wish the absolute best for anyone, wherever that might take them.

But it does something to the way you approach new friendships.

I think that's why I sometimes feel like I have to speed things up.

I'll meet somebody and catch myself thinking:

"I should really get to know this person."

Not because I'm trying to force a friendship.

Because I've seen what happens when you don't.

You spend months staying in the small-talk phase.

Talking about the weather.

Talking about work.

Talking about whatever game was on last night.

Then one day they announce they're leaving.

And suddenly you're wishing you had spent a little more time getting to know who they actually were.

The funny thing is that I don't even think this is really about friendship.

I think it's about opportunity.

Some opportunities come back.

A lot of them don't.

If somebody leaves, there's no guarantee you'll ever see them again.

Especially as adults.

When you're a kid, moving away feels like the end of the world.

As an adult, it's Tuesday.

People disappear into careers, marriages, kids, responsibilities, and geography.

Nobody means for it to happen.

It just does.

One of the strangest things about getting older is realizing that friendships don't end the way they do in movies.

There's usually no big fight.

No dramatic falling out.

No betrayal.

You just stop seeing somebody every day.

Then every week.

Then every month.

Then one day social media reminds you that you haven't talked in three years.

And you're left wondering where the time went.

I've also realized that every friend leaves behind a different kind of hole.

That sounds dramatic, but I don't know a better way to describe it.

Some friends are the people you laugh with.

Some are the people you vent to.

Some are the people you can talk sports with for three hours.

Some are the people who somehow make an eight-hour workday feel like four.

When they leave, it's not like replacing a light bulb.

You don't just go find another one.

People aren't interchangeable.

That's why certain friendships stay with us long after the circumstances that created them are gone.

There's another part of this that I've never really talked about much.

When you've had enough people come into your life and then leave, you start asking yourself questions that probably aren't fair to ask.

Questions like:

"Was I interesting enough?"

"Did I make enough of an impact?"

"Did this friendship mean as much to them as it did to me?"

I've always put a little extra pressure on myself when it comes to friendships.

I never want to feel like I'm wasting somebody's time.

I think that's why I sometimes feel this need to contribute something of value to every conversation.

To be funny.

To be helpful.

To have a good story.

To have something worth bringing to the table.

To say something "interesting enough".

To do something "interesting enough".

To be interesting enough.

Because somewhere in the back of my mind is this fear that if I don't, people will eventually realize they don't need me around.

Looking at it now, I know that's not really how friendships work.

The people who become your friends aren't keeping score.

They're not sitting there evaluating whether every interaction was entertaining enough to justify your existence in their life.

But knowing that logically and feeling it emotionally are two very different things.

The older I get, the more aware I become of how quickly time moves.

Maybe that's just part of getting older.

Maybe it's because I've watched enough people come and go.

Maybe it's because I've lost people.

Maybe it's because one day you wake up and realize years are starting to feel like months.

Whatever the reason, I don't take conversations for granted the way I used to.

I've stopped thinking I have unlimited time to foster these relationships.

Time is fleeting.

Life can pull people in every possible direction all at once.

Now I try to give every interaction the time and attention that it deserves.

I've started appreciating all of them.

The deep conversations.

The stupid conversations.

The five-minute conversations.

The random text messages.

The inside jokes.

The quick "How's it going?" as you pass somebody in a hallway.

The conversations where absolutely nothing important was discussed, yet somehow they still become part of your favorite memories.

When I look back at the people who have mattered in my life, I usually don't remember the huge moments first.

I remember the ordinary ones.

The conversations that weren't supposed to be significant.

The moments that seemed completely forgettable at the time.

Until they weren't.

I've also learned that I'm not somebody who opens up immediately.

Never have been.

If you've ever met me, you probably know exactly what I'm talking about.

I tend to take my time.

I observe.

I listen.

I figure people out.

Some people can walk into a room and become best friends with everybody in ten minutes.

I've always admired that ability.

I've also never been that person.

It usually takes me a while to warm up to people.

It takes me a while to trust people.

It takes me a while to decide whether I'm willing to let somebody see the parts of me that exist beyond sports scores, weather conversations, and whatever happened at work that day.

But once I get there, it means something.

At least it does to me.

When I let somebody into that circle, they're no longer just somebody I know.

They're somebody I care about.

Somebody whose successes I'm genuinely happy for.

Somebody whose struggles I genuinely worry about.

Somebody whose absence I notice when they're not around.

And maybe that's part of why people leaving hits me the way it does.

Because by the time I've reached that point, I'm invested.

And that's when the clock starts getting loud again.

Because I've lived it enough times to know that one day somebody is going to walk into work for the last time, and you won't know it's the last time until after it's already happened.

Maybe that's why I've become more intentional about friendships as I've gotten older.

Not because I expect every acquaintance to become a lifelong friend.

But because I've learned that time is a lot less predictable than I thought it was when I was twenty.

The people sitting around you today might not be sitting around you next year.

The conversations you're having today might become memories sooner than you realize.

The older I get, the less I care about how long a friendship lasted.

I care more about whether it mattered.

Some friendships last decades.

Some last a season.

Some last only as long as a particular job, hobby, team, or chapter of your life.

That doesn't make them any less real.

I don't need every friendship to last forever to appreciate that it existed.

I just need to know that for whatever amount of time our paths crossed, we made each other's lives a little better.

And honestly, maybe that's enough.

Maybe the friendship speedrun isn't really about trying to become friends faster.

Maybe it's about recognizing something that younger versions of ourselves never had to think about.

Time matters.

People matter.

And if you find somebody whose presence genuinely makes your day a little better, don't assume you'll always have tomorrow to get to know them.

Because sometimes tomorrow turns into a transfer.

A resignation.

A move across the country.

Or just life taking people in different directions.

And when that happens, you'll be glad you took the time while you had it.

Because in the end, maybe friendship isn't measured by how long it lasted.

Maybe it's measured by how much it mattered while it was there.

As always, thanks for reading!

Until next week!