One early morning in August, I asked my friend Sarah if she could take me to the airport at 6 a.m. Without hesitation, she replied, “Absolutely!” She even offered to help me look for a new place to live, calling it “an adventure.”
Forget the fact that my car had been broken into the last time I parked it in a busy area. When I reached out to friends—both guys and gals (my mom included)—for someone to look after my vehicle while I traveled from Boston to New York for my dad’s cancer treatments, I got nothing but crickets. That is, until I spoke with Linda, who instantly said, “Of course!” Feeling a wave of relief, I promised to make the task more enjoyable by bringing snacks and a good book. “Nah, I’ll just watch the people passing by,” she replied. “It’ll be a blast!”
As we approach our 40s and beyond, it feels like we start distinguishing between sprinters and marathon runners in our friendships. We begin to value companions who offer more than just fun. Sure, I have friends who can light up a room and keep me entertained, but I’ve learned to cherish those who will help me through the mundane—like driving me to the mechanic or sticking by their commitments.
When I needed quotes for a grad school project on a quirky topic, Linda, despite her bashfulness, bravely stood outside the New York Doll Hospital after work and asked customers for their thoughts. While she might be quiet, those who take the time to notice her can see the vibrant spirit within, something I’ve come to appreciate over our three decades of friendship. She’s an adventurous cook and a belly dancer who’s game for anything interesting, but the spotlight doesn’t tend to find her.
Contrast this with my college friend “Tina,” who was the life of every party. Everyone was drawn to her beauty, talent, and charm. However, after we graduated, I was the one making all the plans and calls. When I stopped reaching out, so did she.
I wouldn’t trade my friendship with Linda for a hundred dazzling Tinas. For instance, she agreed to go with me to a concert, despite not being familiar with the artist at all. The catch? I have a fear of crowds and bats—both of which were likely at that outdoor venue. Linda reassured me that if I felt overwhelmed, all I had to do was look at her, and we’d leave without a second thought. If Tinas are like masterpieces to be admired, Lindas are like a warm hug on a chilly day.
It’s not that my more grounded friends lack excitement; they’re every bit as clever and engaging, just not always in the spotlight. I can count on Linda, Sarah, and my other friends for anything—whether it’s emotional support or practical help. They’re like the essential nutrients in my life, while the Tinas add a splash of flavor. Sure, a little spice is fun now and then, but it’s not the main course.
In my youth, I gravitated towards friendships that were all sizzle and no substance. I once met “Megan,” who immediately captivated me with her charm. We were inseparable for weeks, but just like that, she vanished without a word. Now, when new friendships spark, I remind myself of the old saying: what heats up quickly often cools just as fast.
Romantically, my preferences have evolved too. In my younger days, I was drawn to brooding types. No offense to my wonderful husband, who is kind and artistic, but if I had a do-over, I’d probably seek out the “steady Eddies”—the sort who’d rather fix a sink than pen me a sonnet. If I could meet my 17-year-old self today, I’d warn her that the tortured artist archetype is often weighed down by their own struggles. Nowadays, I’d rather watch someone tackle a plumbing issue than listen to them lament their woes.
In my teens and twenties, I filled my circle with shooting stars—friends who dazzled for a moment before fading away. Now, if I were to craft a friendship wish list, it would reflect the qualities of the Boy Scout law: trustworthy, loyal, kind, and helpful. Not that I approach friendships with a checklist. I value my friends for who they are, but I appreciate those who are truly present in my life, as opposed to those who flit in and out like a summer breeze.
If you’re interested in more insights about friendships or trying new things, check out our blog on home insemination.
To sum it up, I now treasure friends who bring stability and reliability, while still finding joy in the occasional spark of excitement.