Being a good friend has been hard over the past two years. In part, because in many ways we lost the shared experiences that hold them together. And while we gained a lot of common ground, in that we were all grappling with a new way of living, everyone was in crisis at the same time. The relationship economics just didn’t quite work.

Usually, with friendships, we take it in turns needing attention. It’s nothing planned, but one friend might go through a marriage breakup… and then as that eases, another might be having a tough time at work. It’s rarely that everyone finds their lives turned upside down at one time. 

It was with sadness that I received a call from a friend overseas, who admitted that talking to me during her time in lockdown—when I was able to move about freely—was deeply upsetting. She was letting me know, she said, because she didn’t want any resentment between us. “I’m so sorry,” I said down the phone line. “I guess I was just trying to be a pleasant distraction for you. To share what was happening as a way to hold the conversation when said you were at a loss for words or news.” At the end of the conversation, she was light as a feather. I could hear it in her voice. “I’m so glad we cleared that up,” she said. For me, though, I was left feeling heavy. Terrible. My instincts have rarely let me know in the “being a good friend” stakes. But here, I had caused a dear friend pain, during a difficult time.

I have long marvelled at how little can hold some of my deepest friendships together. Often built in times when we have spent lots of time together, some are able to sustain international moves and annual calls. Whenever we chat, we simply pick up where we left off. Others, I find, drift quickly. And the more often I have moved, the easier they are to spot. These are my friends who I know won’t really be interested in checking the time zone to figure out when to chat. My friend who only really want other friends who are easy. Local. Available when it suits them.

The pandemic has also thrown a spotlight on our friendships that are predicated on convenience. Those relationships that happen in the moments before a regular Pilates class, or in the line for the coffee shop near work or even the school run. They are built on snatched moments over years, and can feel so meaningful. And yet, without all the same rhythms to our life, fell away immediately. No hard feelings, it seems. But it’s hard not to wonder whether there is even any point?

I’ve always felt philosophical about the longevity of friendships. When you move around a lot, you have to be. There were people who may feel like family, only to drift following change. They’re not gone, so much as elsewhere, living their lives with other people now. And in their wake, there is room left for new people. Still, when you catch up with them, you can almost feel the ghost of how close you once were lingering at the table. 

At lunch with a friend last week, she described being dumped mid-pandemic by a girlfriend who felt she had not checked-in often enough. My friend, who has three small children at home that she was juggling with a full-time job, saw it as a lucky break. “She could not even cut me a little slack while I grappled with the same pressures she was under… she only saw her needs.” And so rather than apologise and feel guilty as she might have done in the past, she let it go. “You really see who your friends are, and who you don’t mind never hearing from again.” 

Now, as we return to work-life rhythms and our friendships gain back their old patterns, I notice the shifts and changes. But I don’t mind them. I like that we’re sticky-taping the picture back together in a new way, with a clearer understanding of what we really need from our friends. And how resilient we can be when they fall away. It’s not that I want to be alone, it’s just nice knowing that I’ll be okay, whatever happens.