The Easiest Way to Keep Your Friends
It started as a friendship of convenience. Kira and Nino, a husband and wife, had lived in the same building as my husband and me for years. We interacted occasionally, as congenial acquaintances do. Then the pandemic hit, and well, you know: We had time; we had proximity. We exchanged food and drinks and books and laughs, and one day I looked up and we were all honest-to-God genuine friends, the kind who water each other’s plants and know each other’s Sichuan-takeout requests.
But then the world opened up. We had offices to go to, errands to run, and other friends and family to meet with. We saw our neighbors mostly in passing—hi, how are you, it’s been too long, we must hang—and I realized that we’d fallen into a trap: the exhausting tangle of calendar gymnastics that plagues many adult friendships. Busy with everything else, we hadn’t spent quality time together in months.
The hardest part about adult friendship is, by far, scheduling time to see one another, especially when trying to plan for a group. Thursday’s bad for one person, and Saturday’s not good for another. Monday would work—but hold up, the restaurant we want to try isn’t open that day. Let’s wait a couple of weeks. Somehow, though, the day never comes. Your friends forgot to follow up, or maybe you did. Either way, can you even call one another friends anymore?
I tend to catastrophize, because I am dramatic. I’m a terrible friend who deserves no one, I think, or I will die alone, pining for old buddies who fell out of touch because we were “tired” and “busy.” But after some bouts of agonizing, I hit on a simple solution: Set a recurring date on your calendar to get together. And then stick to it.
[Read: The six forces that fuel friendship]
Some people might find this tactic a little soulless and formal, the same way that some couples deride the idea of scheduling sex. Yet when your life is ruled by your phone and nothing gets done unless it ends up on a to-do list, booking repeat friend dates is practical—a way to carve out real time not just for errands and work, but also for engaging with the people you love.
Setting a friend routine is not a new concept. Whether they do poker or bingo nights, tailgates or Dungeons & Dragons campaigns, Americans have long found ways to regularly socialize. What I’m proposing, however, is more casual, more intimate. Parties have their place, as do bar trivia and other big group activities. The problem is, those events will almost inevitably involve people whom you find annoying, which means that—if you’re like me—you’ll still be left craving time with the people you do like. A recurring calendar date lets you set the terms. You can be with the people you want at the time you want, and enjoy the comfort of hopping straight into easy conversation, bad small talk avoided.
Relationships need repetition and structure to grow. They need rituals and habits. This is why many adults say it was easier to cultivate close friendships in school, when they saw the same people every day, and why so many people idealize the warm vibes of Cheers or Friends: same bar, same café, same time, same people.
Recent research has found that although plenty of Americans have friends, many of them aren’t seeing one another. Partly, this is because institutions that used to encourage consistent, more seamless socialization, such as religious and civic groups, have largely declined in popularity. Without those conduits, planning hangouts becomes a form of social labor—the kind that, for many people, can easily feel like a chore. And because proactive communication is a requisite for scheduling, the work frequently falls on the same individuals over and over again, usually the naturally organized, the extroverted, and (let’s be honest) the women. But these people are also busy. Ask too much of them, and the whole exercise risks becoming a recipe for resentment.
Put together a recurring date, though, and bam: The drudgery of “when are you free?” disappears. I can understand why some people might find the idea a little cringe. When you know that your friends’ schedules are already booked with back-to-back activities, asking for permanent space on their calendar might feel like an imposition. This is a big, vulnerable, “define the relationship” sort of ask, a Do you like me as much as I like you? conversation. Imagine the embarrassment if a friend were to say no—or worse, to gently push off the question until you eventually realize that they don’t feel quite the way you do.
[Read: The type of love that makes people happiest]
When I first considered using the same scheduling tool that I use for work meetings (mandatory, not cool) for my friendships (not mandatory, very cool), I thought of a line from my horoscope chart that haunts me: People see me (Taurus sun, Virgo rising) as “organized” and diligent” and also, sometimes, “a bit boring.” Mortifying! I’m supposed to be free-spirited and effortless and fun! I want to live in a world where I run into pals unexpectedly, where a quick text after a grueling Tuesday afternoon can lead to a Tuesday-evening happy hour. But for many Americans, contemporary adult life is not built for spur-of-the moment indulgences. When you have to work, prep meals, take care of kids, and perform all the other tasks required to function as a human, the luxury of spontaneity vanishes.
So last summer, I asked my neighbors if they wanted to set up a regular dinner date. And a surprising thing happened when we did: Our relationship became cozier, more meaningful, more spontaneous. When I was solo parenting and sprained my ankle, Nino took my 1-year-old to day care, and Kira fed me breakfast. When Nino’s dad got sick, we lent him our car for hospital visits. We’ve had to skip a month, and sometimes we reschedule. But adding some friendship structure to my calendar has made life feel much more alive. Recently, when my family and I flew home after a trip and had nothing in our fridge, my neighbors remembered, and at the last minute they asked if we’d like to join them for a steak. We were tired—maybe too tired to socialize. We went anyway. And guess what: They energized us, the way that good friends do.