I Have Too Many Friends

And that’s the way it should be

Last night, I spent a couple hours on the phone with one of my best friends, Sunny. She only lives twenty miles away, but we haven’t seen each other in three weeks. I know this frustrates her. I’m pretty sure she would prefer we get together once every week or two.

I was talking about this to another friend the other day, how I worried that I wasn’t giving Sunny enough time and that maybe if we lived closer, I would be able to see her once a week. Then I realized, no, I could never commit to that. Why? Because I also have to make time to visit my dad 2–4 times a month. I visit my mom that often, as well. I try to visit my brother and his kids 1–2 times a month. I also try to take a walk with my other local bestie, Frank, once a month or so.

And then there are the regular phone calls and emails with other friends, who range in closeness from very intimate to casual-but-highly-valued. And then there are the voice and video messages I exchange on Marco Polo with good friends, and the tweets and DMs I exchange with my Twitter family, and the back-and-forths on Telegram.

I have two parents, five siblings, twelve nieces and nephews, three wives, a handful of husbands, a sprinkling of soul-sisters and -brothers, a tight triumvirate, and a creative coven. And many of these people are folks I talk to 5–7 times a week. In other words: daily or close to it.

I have had to make peace with the fact that there is no way that I could commit to taking several hours out of every single week just for one friend.

What an absolutely lovely problem to have.

I have spent a lot of time pondering the way we teach people to approach friendships in this culture.

I feel that there is a carelessness to it — a lack of intentionality. Look in a magazine, or online media and 90% of the relationship stories are about romantic and sexual partnerships (or hookups). Of the remaining 10%, maybe 9% of that is about parenthood. And the final 1%? You might find some friendship stories peppered in there.

We talk about how to keep a marriage spicy. How to shake up our sex lives. How to improve communication between men and women. How to have “non-confrontational confrontations” with a mate. Where to meet a good partner who knows how to treat a lover right. How to plan a successful hookup.

How many times, though, have you encountered an article on how to deal with friendships that are going through a transition? On how to deal with conflict with a pal? On how to keep the “spark” alive with your best bud?

We don’t see much of that in media — and for a reason. In our culture, we view friendships as the lowest rung of our inner circle: after romantic partners and family. Friendships are supposed to just “happen” and to magically stay alive without us having to put effort into it.

We’re told we’re supposed to give priority to our marriages, to our dating journeys, to our sex lives.

But I’ve long wondered if we’re leaving out one of the most important ingredients of a fulfilled life…

I didn’t have a lot of friends in my life when my partner left. Female friendships in your thirties are challenging — especially when your life veers from the status quo. I had a lot of friends drift away, often because they wanted to be surrounded with other women who understood what it was like to be a wife and mother.

I had my own issues that I brought to the table, as well. I had bought into the notion that I should make my romantic partnership the most important part of my life. If my partner came home from a bad day of work, I’d cancel my plans with friends in order to cuddle with him on the sofa and watch TV. If he wanted to go to the movies, I’d postpone whatever I had planned with my friends that night. And in general, I tended to stick to his side like glue, always at the ready. It somehow felt natural to want to spend the majority of my time with him.

But there are lessons that we all have to learn, eventually.

Age taught me that the truest friends are the ones who don’t give a damn about what you have or haven’t experienced in life — your real sisters don’t need you to be someone’s wife just because they are.

And boyfriends taught me that romantic relationships are the most volatile relationships of all — friendships at the bottom shouldn’t be there because they are the lowest priority, but because they are the stable foundation of our lives.

In my forties, forged by this newfound (and hard-won) knowledge, I flipped my priorities — literally. I decided if a hierarchy were to exist, I would put friends and family at the top.

Romantic relationships might be at the bottom. Or at least equal. I haven’t decided yet. But I did decide to never again forsake my friends for a lover. It’s been a hard rule for me in my forties that if I have plans with a friend, I will not cancel them unless there’s an emergency.

More importantly, however, is my commitment to being intentional and consistent with my friendships. If a romantic partner deserves regular attention, special treats, and careful attention to heal rifts and conflicts, then don’t my friends deserve the same? Don’t my friends deserve to have special outings with me, regular check-ins, lots of hugs, and little presents from time to time, just as I would give to my romantic partners?

Over time, I learned to challenge the notion that our romantic partnership is our most important, most intimate relationship. What if all our relationships have that potential?

There was a time, early in this process, where it felt like trying to squeeze a too-large foot into a tiny glass slipper. Like I was trying to trick myself into being happy when really, I couldn’t be happy without a romantic partner.

But I persevered and began to notice that my friendships became more intimate, more loving, and even more romantic. I started to feel more nourished by my friendships than I ever had before. I felt sad about being unpartnered less and less often.

Then one day, something extraordinary happened: A summer romance that I had hoped would unfold instead disappeared in a puff of smoke. And in my sorrow, my friends lifted me up. A few of them walked by my side through this path of sorrow, holding my hand and letting me cry on their shoulders.

By the end of that summer, though I was still sad that my romance had not worked out, I realized I had never felt the deep, deep loneliness that used to underscore my life (even when I was in a romantic relationship). I realized that I had never felt alone. I realized I still woke up to text messages every damn morning saying, “Have a good day,” or “I love you.” I still had care packages arriving at my house.

I had lost my potential lover, but not love. In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever felt so loved in my life.

I look around today and see riches that are possibly more decadent than Jeff Bezos’ bank account. How many friends do I have who are actively involved in my life? The answer to that is: Hold on, it’ll take me a few minutes to count.

When I look forward to the coming seasons, I do not see a future filled with empty winter days without the man I’d fallen in love with. I see a phone making a dozen dings every time it turns on in the mornings, alerting me to the text messages from my besties. I see video messages and chats with my wives and trio mates. I see collaborations with my creative coven companions.

I don’t have time to be sad that my relationship didn’t come to fruition. In fact, I don’t even have time to answer every email, schedule weekly phone calls, keep up with my video messages…

I have too many friends. What a confirmation that I’m on the right path!

How I wish I’d been taught to pay more attention to cultivating and maintaining friendships in my twenties and thirties. Our pals are, perhaps, part of the most authentic family we will ever have — because it’s a family we get to intentionally curate. It’s not the family we were born into, a family we didn’t get to choose. And it’s not the family of a romantic partnership which is both beautiful and ruinous by its very nature.

If you think about it, friendship might be the container for the most passionate love of all. It’s a love not inspired or influenced by blood or sex — which means the friends in your life are there because they truly cherish you.

And wow, do I feel cherished these days…

© Yael Wolfe 2021

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