"If You're Ever in a Mill and Get Sawed in Half, I Won't Laugh":
Making Friends When You're All Growed Up

I've never been very good at making friends. I have always had friends, although the relationships have often been quirky. There was the threesome that lasted through most of elementary school. I was usually the odd schoolgirl out. When they'd play Donny and Marie (a bizarre obsession), my only choice was to be Jimmy. Then there was the fourth grade friend who was one of the 1970's rare nine-year-old "fast girls." But even in those days I must have had some trouble initiating friendships. I have a hazy memory of my mother being concerned enough about the friends situation to arranging a "fix up" on the playground. But it was another threesome, and threesomes only work in Penthouse Letters.

However, in those little kid days, and the high school and college years, I never thought much about the work that goes into making friends. It was easy. There were people to connect with all around you at school, and you had your whole lives in common. Relationships grew and died with remarkable regularity. In college it couldn't have been simpler. Everyone one was new, we all lived with each other, and linking up as friends or more happened at an amazing rate. Lifelong relationships were built in the space of a weekend. In those days the only problem was making friends too fast and realizing a month later that your new bosom pal was psychotic.

So what happens if you leave the friendship pool? In my thirties I moved halfway across the country with my husband and a brand new baby. I didn't think about the cost of leaving my friends. It never seemed so hard before. But now, the task of starting over seemed incredibly daunting, and I'd never been so conscious of it. We got to know people quickly and we had as much of a social life as you can have with an infant, but the secret to moving beyond casual conversations eluded me.

I mentioned this problem to other people and discovered that I'm not the only one who felt baffled. If my limited and unscientific survey is correct, everyone hits this point. With people as mobile as they are, everyone either leaves, or is left, eventually. I talked to friends around the country in similar situations, and the more I delved, the more I found that we all feel like we're back in middle school, wondering why we're not in the "in crowd," or any crowd for that matter. One of my most confident girlfriends, also living in a new place, spoke about her nervousness calling an acquaintance for coffee and her deflation when her call wasn't immediately returned. Another prodigal friend, who I thought was a friend magnet, is also astonished at how tough it is to develop intense friendships as an adult. She has a tendency to throw herself headlong into budding friendships hoping they'll develop into something great, only to find herself in league with a basket case. Another, who I left behind in my last move, has, on more than one occasion, suggested coffee to a new cool person she's met and they have instantly assumed that she was hitting on them. What's a girl to do?

Everyone agrees that making new friends is like dating, but it's harder and weirder because there are no obvious rules and no etiquette to follow. Where do you meet people? Making eyes at someone at a club or having a friend arrange a blind date would be plain weird. When you do hit it off with a potential mark, how do you exchange phone numbers or make plans without feeling completely awkward? When you do get the guts to call and arrange a "play date" or a cup of coffee, you pray for their answering machine, or better yet, resort to email. If they don't call back within a reasonable amount of time, you're certain they hate you or they think you're a stalker. If they call back and are obviously delighted to get together, then it's pure bliss. But then it starts again for the second "date."

After that comes the more elusive part. How do you take it from acquaintances to bosom pals? How do you go from talking about toddlers in the park or the frustrations of work, to talking on the phone three times a week, complaining about mothers and dishing about sex? How do you get to the point where the conversation flows and you can talk for hours without a breath? I find myself watching "Sex in the City" and "Friends" wondering how to get that (and reminding myself that looking at fictional characters is not helpful). Every new person I meet I weigh as a potential pal. Are you interesting? Are you smart, funny, and well read? Do you get me, do you get my jokes? Can you talk about anything besides your kid?

So what did I do? I got creative. I started a book club, not so much to discuss books (which was an added benefit), but because it seemed like a good way to get to know some acquaintances better. I'd go to any seemingly interesting "mom and kid" thing to meet other people. Kids are good friend bait, since it gives you something instantly in common, though there are risks. You will inevitably end up hanging out with people you don't like because your kids get along so well. Anyone interesting that my husband met at work became a potential friend. And most importantly, I got remarkably brave and struck up conversations at places like the park, the YMCA, and strangely enough, the Ob/Gyn. I made those scary phone calls (and fell back on a lot of email). After two years, things are looking up. I haven't hit the "bosom" stage with anyone new but there are several likely candidates, and only one who turned out to be psychotic.

Now I just have to find my husband some friends.

--Megan R. Zinn
Illustration by Fred Zinn