I forgot how strange it is to move. I mean, I’ve done it a lot. But still every time, it kind of feels like someone shakes up your life so much to the point where you have no idea where you are, what day it is, where your home is, and who to call when you want to grab a coffee.

One day your friends are just a 10-minute walk away in lower Manhattan, the next they’re a timezone away. Showing up at someone’s apartment quickly turns into scheduling a FaceTime call, and friendship begins to look a lot more intentional than convenient.

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I moved back to Nashville recently, and it’s been so sweet. In many ways, it feels like coming home. Familiar roads, familiar faces, and favorite places that somehow still feel like they were waiting for me. In other ways, it feels like everything changed nearly overnight and I haven’t had time to process or adjust in the slightest.

Something I’ve learned in adulthood is that friendship is not built on proximity and it is something I have to relearn how to do well — over and over and over again.

So here are some things I’m learning (or re-learning) right now…

#1: Distance exposes what friendship is actually built on.

When people live nearby, friendship happens naturally. It’s the gift of proximity.

It’s coffee before work, running errands together, church on Sundays, random Tuesday texts.

But distance removes convenience and what’s left? Intentionality. Sure, proximity creates opportunity but intention is what actually builds friendship.

#2: Old friendships don't have to stay stagnant. There’s always room for increased depth.

I didn’t expect my friendships to resume exactly where I left them when I left Nashville years ago. I knew that things had changed. People changed, dynamics changed, and I’ve changed.

Instead of choosing to grieve that, it has made me immensely curious. I want to know who people are now in their day-to-day lives, what they’ve been learning, and how these new versions of us can create a new (and better) version of our friendship.

The goal has never been picking up where we left off. It’s getting to know each other again, and learning new parts of ourselves that have grown in the last few years.

#3: Loving friends from far away isn’t fun or easy, but worth it.

When I left New York, so did some of my closest friends. What once was roommates and friends in walking distance has turned into multiple cities, time zones, and a group chat that never seems to be silenced.

Friendship doesn’t stop once you leave. Rhythms change, but friendship carries on.

You learn how to love through sending voice memos, FaceTiming when you get a free five minutes, checking in on job interviews, and sending selfies in the middle of the day just to see what they are up to (since we are no longer spending every waking second together).

These kind of friendships aren’t measured in distance, but now in consistency.

#4: Stay open to new people.

After a move, it can be easy to cling to what feels comfortable. But I have to remember, every close friend that I feel so known by was also once a stranger to me.

And so in this season, I’m choosing to stay curious about new people and new faces. So here’s to grabbing coffee with the new mutual friend, carpooling to church with a neighbor, and actually making plans with that person you met at that event.

Stay attentive and actually notice the people God has placed in front of you — and lean into them.

Loving old friends well and making room for new ones aren’t competing… they can actually fit together beautifully if you allow for them to do so.

Moving has reminded me (yes, once again) that friendship is less about distance and convenience than stewardship and consistency.

Some friendships, right now, are being strengthened from hundreds of miles away. Some are growing deeper because we’re finally sharing the same city again. And somewhere in between are the people I just met (or haven’t yet met) that are the friendships I’m already making room for.

And I’m reminded that adulthood isn’t about holding onto one version of friendship forever. It’s one — learning to faithfully take care of the friendships you have, two — grieving the ones that change when that change comes, and three — always staying open to the ones still to come.

So here’s to holding all three with open hands.

Do we laugh easily together? Are our schedules the same? Do we have similar interests?

And while those things matter, the older I get, the more I realize the friendships that truly last — the ones that feel safe, healthy, life-giving, and deeply rooted — are built on something deeper: core values.

They’re not built on sameness, perfection, being attached to each other… but on shared character and values.

And while we’re here: a few of my friends and I are deeply obsessed with the concept of core values — both individually and within friendship. We actually spent the entirety of a 7-day trip in Denmark talking through and uncovering ours. The trip ended with the sweetest dinner where we each shared our values out loud, and somehow everything about our friendships started making even more sense. The ways we love each other, communicate, show up, handle conflict, encourage one another — all of it could be traced back to the values we each naturally carry. It made our friendships feel even richer, more intentional, and honestly, more understood. (So this is your sign to figure out your core values in your life!)

BUT, I’ve started realizing there are a few core values I cannot compromise on anymore when it comes to close friendship. They shape how I show up for people, and honestly, they shape the kind of people I feel most at peace around too.

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LOYALTY

Not blind loyalty and not defending bad behavior. I’m talking about the type of loyalty that protects people’s name and character when they’re not in the room. The kind that doesn’t switch up based on convenience, social climbing, attention, or mood.

I think loyalty today is rare because culture rewards upgrading in all formats, all the time. We seek out better opportunities, better circles, better connections — people who can benefit us in some capacity. While tempting at times, I have chosen to deeply value people who stay grounded in who they are regardless of who walks into the room.

Friendship should feel safe and not performative. There should be no ulterior motives or agenda.

Real loyalty builds a sense of emotional security — and I think that’s one of the most meaningful gifts someone can offer.

INTENTIONALITY

By now, you could have guessed this one.

I don’t believe strong friendships just ‘happen’ accidentally. The older life gets, the busier everyone becomes. Which means meaningful friendship starts requiring intention.

Checking in. Following up. Remembering details. Booking flights. Answering the phone. Sending the birthday card. Making plans happen and putting them on the calendar instead of just saying “we should hang soon” for six months straight.

Intentional people make you feel considered.

CONFIDENCE

One thing I’ve realized is insecure people often struggle to be good friends. Yikes, I know. But it’s true.

Because confidence changes the way people love others.

Confident people can celebrate you without competing with you. They can encourage you without feeling threatened. They can handle honesty, growth, change, and individuality without turning everything into comparison.

And we are talking about secure confidence: the kind that allows people to be genuinely happy for others.

When envy and jealousy are absent, friendships become peaceful, celebratory, and full of life-giving joy.

ADAPTABILITY

Life changes constantly, we all know this. Our schedules change, seasons change. People grow, people move, people get new jobs, people lose jobs. people get married, people have kids.

I value friendships that can evolve without falling apart. The friendships that survive distance, career changes, relationships, hardships, healing seasons, spiritual growth, and shifting priorities are usually the ones rooted in adaptability instead of control.

Not every season will look the same… and I think mature friendship understands that.

There’s a sweetness in friendships who can adjust with grace instead of making every change feel personal.

RELIABILITY

This one may matter to me most now.

I think I used to confuse constant communication or fast connection with closeness, but I’ve learned that reliability is what actually builds trust.

Reliable people don’t require guessing because you don’t have to wonder where you stand or whether they’ll show up when it matters.

They call when they say they will. They show up. They follow through. They don’t disappear when life gets hard or inconvenient.

There’s a steadiness to reliable friends that makes relationships feel safe in the most grounded way

CONSISTENCY

Grand gestures? No thank you. Consistency? Yes please x1000000.

It’s not about how big someone shows up once, but how steadily they show up over time.

Consistency creates stability, and stable friendships can become a beautiful kind of emotional home.

These are the friendships that are dependable in the small, everyday ways that actually build trust.

I think one of the most important things we can do is become the kind of friend we keep praying for and desiring.

No one is asking for you to be perfect, endlessly available, or without flaws. But you can be rooted in values that make people feel safe, respected, encouraged, and cared for. At the end of the day, friendship is one of the places where character becomes visible probably the fastest.

And an important thing to remember: the right friendships don’t just add fun to your life. They shape the quality of it.

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the choice to assume the best.

I’m not talking about ignoring every red flag in a friendships or being naïve. This doesn’t mean we excuses patterns or tolerate being undervalued. We are talking about the intentional posture that says: I will trust your heart and your intentions first, before I ever become suspicious.

We know that most friendships that end, actually end slowly and almost invisibly… through misinterpretations, unspoken assumptions, and stories we tell ourselves because we simply don’t have clarity.

They haven’t texted back.
They seemed off at dinner.
Their tone felt different.
They didn’t invite me.

And just like that, a narrative begins to form in our brains. And naturally, the insecurity or anger (or both?) starts to grow. And bitterness starts to harbor.

This narrative though, was based not on truth, but on fragments. We often fill in the gaps quickly (and defensively) because it feels safer to assume distance than to risk vulnerability or a moment of conversation that could bring clarity.

But what if, instead, we paused?

What if we considered that that friend might be overwhelmed with life’s requests, and not uninterested in the question I asked? That their quietness might be exhaustion from a big work transition, not disengagement?

And more than that… what if we rooted ourselves in what we know to be true about them? I stand by this truth: When you truly know someone’s heart, you don’t feel the need to analyze and investigate their every action. You’ve seen their character over time. You’ve experienced their loyalty, their care, and their consistency. So when something feels off, your first instinct isn’t suspicion… it’s trust.

Trust in who they’ve shown themselves to be. And this makes it easy to assume the best of them.

There’s a confidence and steadiness that comes from that kind of knowing. It quiets the urge to overthink. Instead, allows you to say, “this doesn’t feel like them, so there must be more to the story.” And may I add, gives you an opportunity to actually turn your vision outward instead of at your own feelings, to check in on them?

Assuming the best doesn’t mean ignoring your intuition, but it actually means letting your understanding of someone’s heart be the first source of confidence before your fears take over.

It sounds simple, but we all know this not easy… especially in a culture that encourages hyper-independence and self-protection. We’re taught to “read the signs,” to “trust the vibe,” to move accordingly. And while discernment matters an incredible amount, there’s a difference between wisdom and being on constant high alert of your friends.

When you assume the best, you create space for conversation, for repair, for truth to surface without defensiveness. You give your friend the benefit of being human before slapping a label on them of distrust or careless. And in return, you build trust.

Let’s be clear: this doesn’t mean tolerating consistent hurt. Healthy friendship still requires boundaries, honesty, and accountability. But assuming the best is what allows those conversations to happen from a place of clarity first, instead of accusation.

It may sound like: “Hey, I noticed you seemed a little quiet and off at dinner, and I might be reading it wrong… but I wanted to check in.” This simple sentence can plant deep roots of trust in a friendship.

At the end of the day, most people aren’t trying to hurt you. They’re navigating their own lives, carrying things you can’t see, and sometimes falling short without realizing it. If you’ve ever hoped someone would extend you grace in a moment where you didn’t show up perfectly (me, all the time!), you understand exactly why this matters.

Assume the best.

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It’s this: how willing are we to inconvenience ourselves for one another?

Inconvenience is not flashy. It’s not something people talk about, and it may not even be something people realize was required of you in the moment. But it reveals itself in the small, slightly annoying, deeply meaningful moments when showing up isn’t easy, efficient, or particularly appealing.

And nowhere does this feel more real than in New York.

Because in New York, everything is an inconvenience. And time is currency.

Distance isn’t measured in miles but in subway transfers, delayed trains, and how many times you have to say “excuse me” squeezing through a packed car. Seeing a friend on the other side of the city isn’t just “grabbing dinner”… it’s committing to a 45-minute journey, leaving early, and getting home late. It’s choosing them over your own comfort. Which is exactly why it matters so much.

In a city that constantly optimizes for efficiency, the decision to not optimize and to not choose convenience, becomes a kind of quiet devotion.

There’s a temptation, especially as we get older, to build lives that are seamless. We curate routines, neighborhoods, and social circles that minimize inconvenience. We cancel when we’re tired. We reschedule when it’s raining. We default to what’s easiest.

And I’ll be the first to say I can absolutely be guilty of this. To be fair, life is busy and energy is limited.

But there’s a difference between protecting your energy for yourself and refusing to spend it.

Because love, real love in friendships especially, requires a kind of friction. It asks something of you by interrupting your plans, stretching your patience, and occasionally making your day harder. And that’s the point.

The friend who takes two trains and a bus just to sit with you for an hour after a hard week. The one who leaves their neighborhood to come to yours, just because it’s easier for you. The one who shows up when it’s raining, when they’re tired, when it would’ve been so easy to say, “Can we do another time?”

Those moments don’t feel efficient. They feel actually… sort of sacred.

And this isn’t just limited to New York or a big city. In my long distance friendships, this shows up in a hundred tiny ways:

• Choosing to answer the phone when it may be your only 5 minutes of quiet in the day

• Booking the flight to cheer on a friend running their first half marathon

• Setting a calendar reminder for something that matters to them (a big deadline, a tough anniversary, etc)

• Staying on the phone a little longer late at night when you know they need to process, even if you have an early morning

• Mailing something handwritten when a text would’ve been easier

• Being the one who keeps the thread alive when it would be easy to let it fade

None of these are glamorous. All of them to me though, scream “You’re more important to me than my sleep, my time, my finances, my convenience.”

Sacrifice doesn’t always look like grand gestures. Sometimes it’s just choosing someone else’s convenience over your own, again and again, in ways that no one else sees.

We don’t talk about this enough in friendships. We talk about communication, boundaries, loyalty… but not sacrifice.

Not the quiet, consistent choosing of inconvenience.

There’s something deeply human and beautiful about it. A resistance to the hyper-optimized, me-first world we live in. A reminder that relationships aren’t meant to be convenient, they’re meant to be felt.

I used to think that once you’ve built a solid circle of friends, that’s it. You’re “full.” You’ve found your people, your community, your safe spots in the world.

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I’ve lived in many cities as an adult, moved for work or adventure, and there were times I genuinely felt like my life was complete, like my friendships and community were enough. And yet, somehow, new people kept appearing, each one surprising me in ways I never expected.

I remember arriving in Nashville back in 2022, feeling so giddy to be reunited with my closest friends in the world, friends that had known me for 6+ years at that point. These were the ones had seen me through so much, who had convinced me to MOVE to Nashville (with no job and no plans!) and who made my life feel full and rooted.

I remember thinking, Surely my circle is complete.

But then, a coffee shop conversation, a neighbor I met on a walk, a women’s business club, someone introduced by a mutual via text… all of these moments slowly unraveled that thought.

I met people who challenged my perspective, who made me laugh until my cheeks hurt, who reminded me how vibrant and unexpected life can be. I met my new 6 AM gym accountability partners. I met my biggest career cheerleaders. I met my hairstylist that become my travel buddy. I met friends in the final days of that city who still hold a huge spot in my heart today.

The same was true when I moved to NYC. I had a few old friends I was excited to reconnect with, and I quickly found a community within my church. Life felt “full” and busy… but even a year and a half in, I’ve been so beautifully surprised by the new people who have entered my life.

A few months after moving, I went on a cabin trip with a group of girls I mostly didn’t know, and by the end of it, I found myself spending almost every day with Sydney and Reagan, two of the friends I met there.

Shortly after, I met my girl Olivia and now we’re roommates, sharing life in a way I never anticipated.

These friendships have added something unexpected and meaningful to my days, reminding me that even when life feels full, there’s always room for new people who can make it more abundant.

It’s quite easy to get comfortable with the people we already know. Perhaps it’s because letting more people in feels vulnerable, or because we fear that someone new will see parts of us we’re not ready to show.

But staying too comfortable can make us miss out on the people who could add something incredible to our lives. These may be friends who might stay for years and through seasons of life, who might teach us something new about ourselves, or who might simply make ordinary days feel extraordinary.

Even when my calendar and heart felt full, I slowly realized there was always room for one more story, one more friendship. These were people who added richness I never saw coming.

What I’ve realized is that no matter how content we feel, there’s always someone out there who can surprise us.

Maybe it’s a person who shares a passion we didn’t even know we had, or someone whose outlook on life shake up our routines in the best way. Every new friendship has the potential to add richness, depth, or light we didn’t even realize we were missing.

So here’s my takeaway: we’re never too “full” for new friends.

The world is full of amazing people, and if we stay open, curious, and just a little bit brave, we’ll keep finding them, even when we least expect it.

So… what new person has entered your life recently, and how have they made it richer?

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The kind of silence where two people actually feel safe enough not to fill every space, but the kind of silence that shows up when something small hurts and we decide it’s easier not to say anything.

We tell ourselves it’s not a big deal. We don’t want to be dramatic. We don’t want to make things awkward and it doesn’t feel worth it.

So we often let the moment pass. But swallowed moments don’t disappear… they settle. And they become bigger. And bitterness grows.

And what started as a small sting becomes something heavier over time and maybe looks like confusion, distance, resentment. Weeks later, the conversation finally happens, but now it’s no longer about one moment. It’s about ten moments, a pattern, maybe even some “you always” or “you never” statements.

The truth is that most friendships don’t break because of the original moment, but because the moment was never addressed when it was still small.

There’s a kind of courage in saying something in real time. Not aggressively and not defensively, but just honestly.

“Hey, can I tell you something? When that happened earlier it actually hurt my feelings.”

Yes, it’s vulnerable and yes, it risks awkwardness. But it also gives the other person something incredibly valuable: the chance to respond while their heart is still open and the moment is still clear.

When we wait too long, the conversation changes. What could have been a gentle correction becomes a release of stored frustration. And the other person, who may not even remember the original moment, suddenly feels blindsided by the weight of it.

Healthy friendships aren’t the ones where no one ever gets hurt. They’re the ones where people feel safe enough to say, “That didn’t sit right with me,” before resentment has the chance to write its own story.

Because most of the time, our friends aren’t trying to hurt us, but they also can’t repair what they don’t know is broken. Knowing gives opportunity for correction and opportunity for everyone to do better next time.

My rule of thumb? A friend once told me, “If you’re going to harbor bitterness about this, then you need to say something to them.”

Clarity is kindness. And having the hard conversation is loving your friends well, and allowing them to love you well.

So maybe the real skill of friendship isn’t avoiding hard conversations. Maybe it’s learning to have them while our hearts are still soft.

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How can I show up for you well right now?
How can I love you in this season?

I used to assume that if someone was one of my closest friends, I already knew the answer. After all, history creates confidence. When you’ve walked through years with someone — in breakups, career changes, family hurt, celebrations, ordinary days — you start to think you understand their emotional needs practically instinctively.

But the truth is, proximity can create blind spots just as easily as it creates intimacy.

The longer we know someone, the easier it is to love the version of them we’re familiar with instead of the person they’re actively becoming. And we are always becoming.

I’ve had a few moments where this has become very clear to me. Friends I love deeply were navigating things I didn’t understand at first like new pressures, internal struggles, exhaustion, transitions. In those moments, I notice how quickly my default response is to offer the kind of support I would want, or the kind of support that had worked for them before — encouragement, solutions, distraction, advice, check-ins. And none of those are bad things. But they aren’t always the right things.

So instead, I started asking:

“What does support look like for you right now?”
“Is there any way I can show up better for you lately?”
“How can I love you well in this season?”

And what I found was quite simple: the answers were often different than I expected. One friend didn’t need advice, but consistency. Another didn’t want to talk things to death… she wanted normalcy and laughter. Another needed practical help more than emotional processing. Another needed simply prayer and the presence of a friend.

The act of asking itself has done something important in my friendships. It communicates care without assumption and creates space for honesty without pressure.

I think one of the biggest misconceptions about strong friendships is that they run on autopilot once they’re established or get easier over time. But relationships don’t stay healthy because of history alone; they stay healthy because of attention and intention.

Seasons of life change us constantly, even when we don’t notice at first. Someone who was once highly independent might be walking through a season where they actually need more support. Someone who used to process everything out loud might now feel overwhelmed by constant conversation. Someone who always showed up for everyone else might quietly need someone to show up for them (hi, it’s me).

If we don’t ask, we can risk loving people in ways that don’t make them feel loved. Not because we don’t care… but because we assume.

There’s also something deeply humbling about asking this question. It acknowledges that loving someone well isn’t something we figure out once and then know how to do forever well. Loving someone is something we keep learning and requires curiosity, paying attention, and being willing to adjust.

When you ask someone how you can love them well, you often give them permission to reflect on what they actually need, which many people don’t pause to consider on their own. And sometimes it opens the door for them to ask you the same question back. In that way, the question itself becomes a form of intimacy.

This is the deeper invitation: to love people in real time.

Not based on memory, assumption, or on what worked before… but based on who people are today.

How many relationships could grow stronger with one simple, sincere question? A lot — because intentionality strengthens what already exists.

So maybe consider asking someone in your life this week:

How can I love you well in this season?

You might learn something new. They may confirm that you’re already showing up in exactly the right ways. You’ll likely open a conversation that brings unexpected closeness. And at the very least, you’ll remind someone that they are seen in this season for who that are becoming.

But it’s not the classic loneliness or FOMO on a Friday night. It’s actually the realization that the people who know you best — the ones who witnessed entire chapters of your life up close — now live in different cities, different time zones, sometimes entirely different versions of daily life.

The roommate you once shared a bedroom with in college is in a different time zone, has her own separate friends, and a routine that doesn’t involve you. The friend you did day-to-day life with is suddenly a “Let’s schedule a FaceTime date!” text away.

Sometimes when I’m having a hard week, my instinct is to go sit on a friend’s couch... but sometimes the couch I want to sit on is a plane ride away.

The last 5 years of so, I’ve realizing something important: long-distance friendship doesn’t survive on history and years of friendship alone. It survives on intentionality and sacrifice.

Over time, without consciously deciding it, I’ve come to find that my closest long-distance friendships started revolving (symbolically) around three things: flowers, FaceTimes, and flights.

Flowers are the beautiful reminder you’re not doing life alone.

When I first moved to NYC almost a year and a half ago, I very quickly received the most beautiful flower delivery that came on my first Wednesday morning in the city, at the same time I used to meet weekly in a coffee shop in Nashville for a Bible Study. Those sweet girls rallied together and planned so intentionally to make sure I knew they were thinking of me on that first Wednesday without me there… and it made me feel so loved.

Those flowers sat on my night stand for probably two weeks, and every time I walked past them, I felt this small but steady reassurance that someone, somewhere, was thinking about me in the middle of their own life. That even though I was no longer there with them, they reminded me that I was being thought of.

That’s what tangible gestures do in long-distance friendships. They bridge the gap that distance creates. Sometimes it’s flowers. Sometimes it’s a book you talked about months ago that shows up in the mail. Sometimes it’s a handwritten note.

And the older I get, the more I realize how much those gestures matter, not because of the object itself, but because of the effort behind it. Someone paused their day, thought of you specifically, and followed through in order to make sure you felt seen.

FaceTimes allow for day-to-day life together, not just updates.

There’s a huge difference between knowing what’s happening in someone’s life and feeling like you’re still part of it. FaceTime has become the closest thing to sitting next to each other on the bed while one of you tries on outfits or spirals about work.

Some of my favorite conversations with long-distance friends are completely ordinary. One of us is cooking dinner. Someone else is folding laundry. Sometimes the hair dryer is on. Often times I’m walking home from the train with sirens blasting around me. The phone is propped up against a sink or even laying on the floor. We’re not even talking about anything particularly important, but just letting each other exist in the background of our lives.

That kind of presence is what keeps friendships from turning into periodic life updates.

Of course there are also the scheduled FaceTime coffee dates and emergency calls. These are crucial too. The tears, the laughter that makes your stomach hurt, the processing sessions that used to happen in person… now often happen through a screen.

Flights are the commitment and sacrifice that change everything.

No matter how strong a friendship is, there comes a point where you just need to be together in person.

And that’s where flights come in.

There’s something deeply meaningful about booking a plane ticket for someone who isn’t family or isn’t for attending a wedding. It requires money, planning, time off work, effort. You’re rearranging pieces of your life to make space for each other.

What never gets old is the feeling of being picked up a friend in an airport (or watching them walk through your front door) after months apart. It comes with lots of screams, the hug that feels both familiar and new, the way conversation picks up mid-sentence like no time has passed.

What always strikes me during those trips is how quickly you remember the rhythm of being together. The comfort returns and your shared language is still there.

Trips create new memories, which is essential. Without new memories, friendships can slowly become museums and places where you only revisit the past. Flights make sure you’re still building something in the present.

And flights are the perfect way to seek out comfort in those who know you best. When I’m having a hard time? Book a flight to Nashville to see those who have known me for ten years. When my cross-country friend is alone on her favorite holiday? Book a flight to Cali and show up to surprise her at her doorstep.

My friend Sydney’s absolute favorite day in the whole world is Valentine’s Day and she moved to Cali last year, where we knew the first Valentine’s without her girls would be hard. So I showed up at her front door… and it was worth every bit of time and money for that flight.

And yes, sometimes (actually often times), it’s inconvenient. Sometimes the timing isn’t perfect. Sometimes it feels expensive or exhausting to travel. But I’ve never once regretted getting on the plane.

Long-distance friendship (and friendship as a whole) has changed the way I understand love.

And this is probably the best time to plug Everything I Know About Love, by Dolly Alderton. If you haven’t read it… trust me, you’re going to want to.

It’s definitely easier to love people when they’re woven into your daily routine, when you see them effortlessly, when connection requires minimal to no planning. But it’s completely different, and in many ways deeper and sweeter, to love people you have to choose over and over again despite distance.

Flowers are choosing someone. FaceTimes are choosing someone. Flights are choosing someone.

They’re all ways of saying, “You still matter in the middle of my life.” And maybe that’s one of the most comforting realizations adulthood has given me so far. Distance doesn’t have to dilute friendship.

So… how can you show up for a long-distance friend this week? Here are some of my favorite ways:

• Call them on your commute!

• Send them a song that reminds you of them.

• Write them a letter — everyone loves snail mail.

• Plan a FaceTime date.

• Send a Venmo for them to grab a coffee on you.

• Look up flights and mark your calendar…

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I’ve always loved quality time. It’s the love language I feel most deeply — the one that makes me feel closest, safest, most seen. But over time, I’ve realized that not all quality time feels the same.

Some of it feels performative, sometimes it feels social. Most of it feels really fun, but actually can be quite fleeting.

BUT there’s a kind that actually changes relationships. For me, that kind is coexisting.

Coexisting is the kind of time where you’re allowed to just be.

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Coexisting does not mean big plans, dressed-up dinners, loud happy hours or perfectly timed calendars (our favorite things here in New York!). But coexisting is actually the quieter kind of time… the kind where no one is performing, no one is impressing, and no one is trying to make the moment feel like more than it is.

I think coexisting was something that I learned a lot about in college. At the time, I lived with three other girls in a downtown loft full of sunlight-spilling windows. We had a huge living room with three couches that we filled with brunches, snow-day movie marathons, and friends who would simply come over to sit and read… together.

It’s a practice that I’ve taken with me through life since then and one that has radically changed the way I view quality time and friendships.

Coexisting can look like…

• Grocery shopping together

• Sitting on the couch in silence

• Running errands

• Reading side by side

• Folding laundry on FaceTime

• Sitting in the same room while doing different things

• Walking aimlessly around the city

• Having an admin night together

• Making dinner together

• Existing in the same space without needing to fill every second with conversation or activity

Picture this: When Harry Met Sally is playing on the TV, dinner is cooking in the oven, your friend is finishing up some late night work, and you’re catching up on your favorite book. It’s often times existing in the same space at the same time… while often times doing entirely different activities.

Coexisting is found in the mundane and the ordinary, yet somehow, it’s the deepest form of connection I’ve found.

I think that coexisting completely removes the pressure from a friendship. You don’t have to be “on” and you don’t need to entertain. You can be low-energy, you can lay on the couch, and you can even be in silence.

It gives people permission to relax into themselves. When you coexist with someone, they don’t have to perform a version of themselves and neither do you. There’s a softness that settles in (as my London friends say, “let’s sit soft.”).

A sense of emotional safety comes through coexisting. What develops from these moments is an increasing quiet understanding that you’re accepted as you are, even in your most neutral, tired, unfiltered state. And that’s where my relationships have deepened.

Some of the most meaningful conversations I’ve ever had didn’t happen at a dinner table or over cocktails. They happened in the in-between moments — on the couch, on the train, while wandering a grocery store aisle, while sitting in silence long enough for honesty to surface.

Coexisting creates space (real space) for vulnerability.

I’ve found that the best moments require no agenda, no timeline, and no specific “event.” These are the moments that soften and disarm and let people be seen.

The relationships in my life that feel the deepest, safest, and most expansive all have one thing in common: coexisting is a pillar.

These friendships thrive on ordinary life. The coexisting moments allow us to see each other when we are bored, tired, stressed, quiet, resting, unfiltered — often moments when we are not at our best. And that creates a different kind of closeness… one that’s rooted in reality, not performance. These moments allow you to do real life together.

But here’s the thing: coexisting can be surprisingly hard.

Especially in a city like NYC. New York rewards speed, momentum, packed calendars with hangs planned weeks in advance. Plans require plans, reservations, timelines… and the slowing down here feels very unnatural. And coexisting requires slowness.

In a city built on motion, choosing to just exist with someone can feel almost rebellious in a way because of how against the grain it is. Still, it’s the thing I crave most.

Coexisting says: You don’t need to impress me. You don’t need to perform for me. You can show up as your real, ordinary self and I still want to be here.

That’s my favorite kind of quality time. The time that feels steady, grounded, and real.

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Lately, I’ve been reminding myself to make more room for that kind of time. We all need a little less pressure to plan something impressive and more willingness to just sit, walk and exist… side by side.

Sometimes the deepest connection doesn’t come from doing more together. It comes from doing actually nothing together.

So, what does coexisting look like for you?

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People evolve. Tastes change. Priorities shift.

The friend you met five years ago isn’t exactly the friend you know today, and neither am I. And that’s the exciting part.

The thing that keeps friendships alive, in my experience, isn’t shared hobbies or proximity. It’s curiosity. Staying genuinely curious about your friends, even the ones you’ve known forever, is a small but powerful act of love.

I have a little habit (my friends can attest to this — the ones who light up at this and the ones who roll their eyes): I keep questions on hand in my phone.

Random, thoughtful, fun questions that I can pull out at a dinner, a hangout, or even a group text. Sometimes they’re quite random (“You have 12-months to turn $10 into $10 million. Who are you partnering with?”), sometimes they’re deeper (“What do I want to be remembered for, even if just by the people closest to me?”).

But all in all, they’re all designed to spark conversation. And even more importantly, to learn something new about someone I care about — whether I’ve known them for 10 minutes or 10 years.

My good friend, Annie, and I spent a month living and traveling England together last fall. We’ve been friends for almost 10 years and while we could list off 100+ unique things that we know about each other, we know there’s always more to learn and better ways to love each other. I’ll never forget the night we sat by a fire, shared some hot chocolate with Bailey’s, and pulled out some questions… some deep and fun questions. We learned so many new and vulnerable things about each other and walked away from that evening feeling like we had fresh fire on our friendship. Curiosity fuels friendship, believe me.

And just after that, we met two of our sweetest friends from London, with whom we spent a full day at the farmhouse. And what do you think we did after dinner that night? We asked questions, questions that turned strangers into what quickly felt like family, and questions we still talk about today.

One of my other favorite moments of pulling out the “question note” in my phone was last winter on an upstate New York cabin trip with seven other girls. I was new to NYC and new to the lives of most of these girls, but I quickly knew I was curious to learn more of who they were and what lit them up. The last night of our snowy weekend while we were sitting by the fire, I brought out the questions… and the questions brought vulnerability, honesty, tears, and now some of my best friends here in the city.

I love it when a friend shares something I never knew — a little quirk, a new passion, a hidden fear, a secret dream. Those moments make me feel closer to them, like I’m seeing a layer of who they are that I didn’t even know existed.

And it’s proof: no matter how long you’ve known someone, there’s always more to discover.

I think sometimes, friendships fade not because of conflict, but because we stop asking questions. We can easily settle into autopilot conversations: “How’s work?” “Good, you?” “It’s fine.” And while that lasts for a while as small talk, it doesn’t feed the connection like curiosity does.

Questions show your friends that you’re paying attention, that you notice, and that you care.

Being curious also creates space for vulnerability. When someone feels genuinely seen and heard and known, trust deepens. You learn not just what your friends do, but who they are — what excites them, what scares them, what they dream about.

Here’s something practical you can try: keep a list of questions in your phone. Pull one out at your next hangout. Ask follow-ups. Listen. Take notes even. Be genuinely interested. Treat every time you’re together like a chance to learn one new thing.

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(My favorite tip: number the questions. Make a friend choose a random number. Everyone at the table gets to answer that question!)

So here’s my challenge: ask a friend something today that you don’t already know. You might be surprised what you learn. And honestly, that little curiosity might just be the thing that keeps your friendship alive.

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Here are just a few of some of my favorite questions… use them!

1. What’s your most nostalgic smell?

2. What’s something you want to start doing, stop doing, and keep doing?

3. If there were 30 hours in a day, what would you do more of?

4. What’s your favorite time of the day and why?

5. If you could live anywhere in the world for a year, where would you pick?

6. What emotion do you avoid feeling, and what scares you about it?

7. What’s your dream three course meal?

8. What are three things you’re genuinely excited about this month?

9. If you have to stay awake on a late night drive, what music are you putting on?

10. What recent internet rabbit hole did you go down?

11. If you could have a backyard concert by a bonfire with 15 of your closest friends, who is performing?

12. You’re on a deserted island but you can only have… one song, one book, one food.

13. What is your idea of a perfect weekend?

14. What’s a recent decision you’re proud of?

15. What’s something you wish you could experience or feel for the first time again?

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I don’t think that anymore… at all.

Community isn’t just found.

It’s built.

It’s cultivated.

It’s a practice.

And like any practice, it takes work.

It takes effort.

It takes sacrifice.

And most of all, it takes consistency.

Think of it like a muscle.

The first time you show up, host a dinner, introduce two people who might click, or check in on someone just because… it probably feels a bit awkward. You might wonder if it’s worth it.

But the more you practice, the stronger you grow. Your confidence grows. Your generosity grows. Your gifts, the things you have to offer to others… it all grows.

Every time in my life that I’ve prayed for friendships or meaningful connections, I’ve been placed in rooms, in circles, in situations where community didn’t just drop into my lap. I had to cultivate it. I had to tend to it.

And that, honestly, is a gift.

Because there’s something sacred about showing up for others.

About making room for people.

About being willing to put yourself out there, even when it’s uncomfortable, because you know that what grows from that effort is worth it.

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Here are some ways I’ve learned to build community in my own life:

• Host dinner parties or small gatherings. Food is magic. Breaking bread together builds trust and connection. Gather at a table. Ask good questions. Linger longer.

• Connect your friends to each other. Be the bridge. Introduce people generously. Make the group texts. Invite a new friend to tag-along to the already set plans.

• Make room for everyone. The more, the merrier. Open invites can lead to the most unexpected and beautiful connections. There’s a time and place for intentional time with a smaller set of people… but more often than not, there’s always room for more.

• Check in on people. A message, a note, a phone call. These small gestures remind people they’re seen.

• Shift your mindset. Walk into a room thinking “There you are!” rather than “Here I am.” It changes everything about how you show up.

Community asks something of us. It asks us to give more than we take. It asks us to show up even when we feel tired or unsure. And it asks us to be consistent, even when it feels like nothing is happening.

But when you do it, when you practice it, you are building something rare and beautiful. A place where people feel seen. A place where gifts are exchanged, not bought. A place where roots grow deep, and joy and belonging grow even deeper.

The truth is, community doesn’t just find you.

But you? You can build it.

So set the tables, send the texts, open your doors, and show up… again and again and again.

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There’s just something quietly beautiful about sending (or receiving) a follow-up text after spending time with a friend.

Not to make another plan. Not to expect affirmation in return. But a few simple and sweet words… just to say, I loved seeing you.

Or maybe it says:

• “So grateful for our time together”

• “Always love seeing you”

• “Wish we could have chatted for a million more hours”

• “Text me when home, I love you”

It affirms the friendship without asking or expecting for anything in return. It lets the other person relax instead of replaying the hangout in their head, wondering if they talked too much or said the wrong thing (which we all do).

In a world where everyone is busy and distracted, following up is a small, but powerful act of intentionality. It says: I was present then and I’m still present now.

This text can take just ten seconds, but those ten seconds can build immense trust, care, and consistency. And it models the kind of clarity and affirmation most of us are quietly craving.

I’ve learned over the years that friendships can often times fall apart not from big and monumental moments, but from missing the small ones.

Sometimes the strongest thing you can say is simply… That mattered to me.

I’ll leave you with this…

• When was the last time someone followed up with you, and how did it make you feel?

• What’s a beautiful follow-up text you’ve received before?

• What would change in your friendships if warmth was stated and affirmed, instead of just assumed?

• Who comes to mind that you could follow up with today?

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We all want a village. And we’ve all, likely, by now heard the infamous “Everyone wants a village but no one wants to be a villager” quote. And sadly, that can often feel very real and very true as an adult… an adult who is trying to make friends, grow in their community, and do life with people who know and love you.

Perhaps we have felt disappointed by friends in the past. People you thought would answer the phone on your bad day, show up with soup in hand when you’re sick, send the birthday cards, ask you to a coffee, celebrate your wins, and check in on that tough family situation.

As I grow older and each day passes by, I believe that friendship feels harder because life is harder. It’s more demanding and more fragmented. We have full calendars, ever-growing to do lists, jobs that demand our time, sleep to catch up on, errands to run, agendas to fulfill.

And I think we’re lonelier not because we don’t want people, but because we are continually being trained to prioritize independence, efficiency, and self-protection over presence and commitment.

There’s always a new solution, a new way to optimize, a new way to get to our end result faster. We have simply streamlined and enhanced practically everything… but community.

The truth is, friendship is HARD. It takes work. It takes admitting mistakes. And it takes showing up — on good days and bad days… and all the in between days.

So here’s to this space, where I share all I have and am continuing to learn about the beauty of friendship and the necessity of community. Here’s to the mistakes I’ve made, the practical tips I’ve implemented, and the joys I’ve found.

If you found yourself here, maybe you feel it too…
The ache for deeper connection.
The fatigue of our culture’s surface-level social life.
The ache that reminds us we weren’t meant to do life alone.

Welcome.

Let’s Show Up Anyway.

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