Essay: The Complexities of Adult Friendships

When I was a kid I lived across the street from my two best friends. We carpooled to school together, caused a ruckus in our backyards and were always a knock away from wild adventures and boundless joy. 

It was easy. Our moms made our plans. We followed the same schedules. We did all the same extracurriculars. We had to put in almost no effort to experience a wonderful childhood full of vibrant memories.

Both of those girls are still in my life, but now we live 1,800 miles away from each other. We play phone tag in-between work and school, and see each other around the holidays — if we’re lucky enough to be in the same place at the same time.

It isn’t that we love each other any less, we’ve just been sucked up by adulthood and forced to sacrifice certain aspects of friendship in the name of internships, degrees, jobs and a full night of sleep. 

I’m graduating this spring, and my time in Chicago has been rich and fulfilling. 

Still, on the precipice of adulthood, after forming countless new relationships and collecting lifelong friends, I’ve never felt lonelier. 

This feeling isn’t unique to me and it definitely has nothing to do with me or my wonderful friends — adult friendships just aren’t the same. 

As children, our lives are so tightly intertwined. It’s weird to think I miss the mandated social interaction that comes with youth.

While I don’t miss high school drama, complex love triangles or the rattling insecurities of adolescence, I do miss the ease. At 16, I was the first of my friends to get a driver’s license. As soon as the paper license was placed in my hand, I became the group driver, running my friends to school and all around San Jose, CA. 

We’d sneak off-campus for lunches during the week and on the weekends we’d lie to our parents about our whereabouts, always somehow ending up in Santa Cruz or San Francisco. It was so easy to run wild and chase sunsets when our houses were within a five mile radius of each other, and our parents paid for our gas and car insurance. 

We had unlimited funds to spend on ourselves when rent, books and groceries weren’t on our radar. I made $22 an hour at the YMCA as a swim instructor and, with no other financial burdens, I had all the freedom in the world to focus on fun — a luxury I wish I appreciated more at the time.

The freedom of adulthood is beautiful. With it comes the ability to pursue my passions and hand-pick the people I want to surround myself with, but it seems like it also demands I pull away from my chosen family. 

College life is complex. Trekking through adolescence, my heart aches for the times when having fun was easy and I could afford to dedicate myself fully to friendships. 

It’s ironic — the friendships I’ve carried into my adulthood hold the emotional depth and strength I’ve been craving my entire life, but two night classes, work and a bout of fatigue keep me on a path of isolation. 

Worst of all, there’s no one to blame. 

It’s hard to watch the people around me get busier. It sometimes feels like everyone is moving forward without me, but when I sit and look at my life, I’m getting busier too. All of my energy is reserved for the hours I spend in front of my computer, finding the will to take care of myself and figuring out what the hell I want to do after graduation. 

It makes me wish my mom was still the one in charge of making all my plans.

There is so much to do and so much to take care of, and that’s okay. It feels weird to let go of having your best friend glued at your hip on the playground, but I guess that’s coming of age — sitting in the duality of having strong friendships, but never having time. 

The separation from my college life is coming. As my friends chase fantastic opportunities in cities all across the world, and I flip coins trying to decide where I want to be, distance is on the horizon — both physical and emotional — and I will learn to be okay with it. 

I moved to a new city in 2021 and made dozens of new friends I can’t imagine my life without, while also maintaining strong relationships with my core group of friends at home. In my next city, I am sure there will be dozens more. 

It’s difficult to stay positive, but there is no limit on how many friends one can have, even if the relationships with said friends constantly ebb and flow. Yes, there’s immense grief within the process of coming of age, but there also is immense joy — a concept I am constantly still learning. 

Graduation will come, but my roommates will still have a table at my wedding. I might move to a new city, but my sorority sisters will still be the aunties to my children someday. 

It’s going to be weird to adapt when I graduate. I am sure there will be lonely days and plenty of phone tag, but maybe I’ll meet future bridesmaids at work or join a cornhole league. Who knows. 

But that’s adulthood — bittersweet, yet endlessly rich.