Friendship Isn’t One-and-Done

Why keeping friends takes more than just making them

Olivia Clarin

I grew up so painfully awkward and socially anxious, that my mom and teachers worried about my ability to make friends. For years, I had to force myself out of my comfort zone just to talk to peers. Over time, I built confidence and even came to love forming deep connections. 

But in my twenties, I’ve realized that making friends is only half the battle, and that maintaining them is even more difficult. Friendship in adulthood demands intention. In a world where our time and attention is pulled in a billion different directions, from new cities to new careers to new routines, we have to work at staying close. 

Personal growth researcher Mel Robbins describes this reality as “Three Pillars of Friendship”: proximity, timing, and energy.1 These pillars explain why some relationships fade while others stay resilient, and they’ve helped me understand the friendships I’ve managed to hold onto as well as those I’ve let go of.

Proximity

One of my best friends moved to Boston a month ago. She’s the type of friend where we never needed to plan ahead. She or I would text, “wanna get coffee?” or “wanna do a jam session?” and the answer would usually just be “yes.” The time of day never mattered; our hangouts were spontaneous and low-pressure, and she’d usually be over within twenty minutes. 

Now she’s over a thousand miles away. She sent me a postcard last week, and I wrote a letter back. Even that takes a deliberate effort, like remembering to buy stamps. Distance has shafted the dynamic between us: what was once the casual and constant rhythm of knowing each other’s weekly routines has become random check-ins over text. We still talk, but less often; they grow without you, and you without them. Naturally, someone else fills the role of the day-to-day friend and before long you start hearing about a new name that’s part of their everyday stories.

Timing

Sometimes the challenge isn’t distance but timing. At a five-week long summer training camp, I was with thirty other people I spent each day with: waking up before dawn, sharing meals in the field, venting about the same challenges. Those bonds formed quickly because our lives ran on the same clock. However once we returned to our separate states and regular routines, the overlap disappeared.

Timing also shifts with life stages. A close friend might start a demanding new job while I’m still buried in schoolwork, or I’ll have ROTC drills on weekends when they’re finally free. We might live in the same city but struggle to find a single free evening. Unlike proximity, which you can sometimes fix with a short drive or call, timing is harder to control. It’s about whether your rhythms align enough for the friendship to keep breathing. When they don’t, it can feel like the friendship itself is failing, but often it’s the clock and not the connection. 

Energy

Proximity and timing are often out of our hands, but energy is the one piece we can choose to give. A friendship can survive long distance or mismatched schedules if there’s enough intention behind it. For me, that sometimes looks like sending a quick voice memo instead of a text because that feels more personal and lets a friend hear my tone. Other times it’s just remembering to ask about their new job they mentioned interviewing for weeks ago. None of these gestures take long, but they add up to a feeling of being seen. 

I’ve also discovered that energy has to go both ways. When I’m always the one reaching out, the friendship starts to feel heavy. That’s usually my cue to step back or reconsider how much I can give. But when effort is shared, even through the smallest gestures, the friendship feels lighter and more natural.  

In The End 

I used to think making friends was the hardest part, but adulthood taught me that maintaining them takes its own kind of work. Proximity and timing change whether we like it or not, but learning when to give, when to pause, and when to let go has made my friendships more enduring.