Considering the amount of trouble I get to at work on a regular basis, that’s probably a fair assessment. Making friends, as an adult, as an introvert, though, I used to think that was only possible with happy accidents. Not anymore.

There is enough material out there about the loneliness epidemic. My best guess is it has something to do with how quickly civilization has progressed. The loneliness is the tradeoff for how much our lives are different to that of our parents. Things could be better but that will require a lot of effort…and time. Best guess and beside the point.

When I was in school, friendship came easily. On my first day in 2^nd standard at a new school, I shared a bench with the person who was soon my best friend. I don’t think it took much more than proximity. Over the eleven years I spent at that school, he was the constant despite a few others who could claim the title at different periods. By my count, there were five in total and nearness had a hand in four of them.

While proximity again played its part in college with most of my closest friends sharing a hall of residence with me, it was also a bond forged in suffering as first years. The “traditions” of the hall dictated an year of serving the second and third years, everything from scoring weed to withdrawing money at the ATM. Punishments for not meeting expectations, or just being at the wrong place at the wrong time, ranged from having to jump into the hall’s pond to having cigarettes stubbed out on you to some level of sexual abuse. Maybe that was the point – as a batch, there would be more camaraderie because of what we all went through.

When you are out in the real world though, those elements help but the returns diminish over time. People are busy getting married and having kids, and friends are not the priority anymore. And people just drift away, either your friends…or you.

Many years ago, I found myself friendless in Bombay. Every single close friend packed up and moved out to a different time zone. I am possibly taking some creative liberties here or my memory is not what it used to be but that’s what I have been saying for years. Every. Single. Friend. Left.

This was a few years after Tinder had come to town and probably around the time Bumble launched in the country. For someone who had never really figured out how to ask someone out, they seemed like the romantic equivalent of 42. If I had been a bit more self-aware, that should have translated into – if it is a thing – finding the one. What I did find, instead, was another piece of the puzzle. Over a ridiculous number of mostly lovely dates, I learned how to open up. The defence mechanisms that had been developed over a decade ago in response to a series of heartbreaks, slowly melted away in the company of people who made themselves vulnerable to me; and in turn, allowed me to do the same. Many years before I came across the Brené Brown video, they showed me what it means to connect with someone, and how to.

Around the same time, with all the newfound free time, I went looking for things to do. After spending a ton of money on photography equipment a few years ago, only to discover that I was quite lousy at it, I was a bit careful about picking up new hobbies. After trying a few things, including Lindy Hop, I found myself in a spoken word open mic. Listening to poetry, some funny, some sad, mostly honest, I found myself feeling again. It came with the realization that I had been dead inside for a long time. In an effort to block out sadness, I had managed to numb myself to all emotion. What was it about poetry, about words that told stories, that came from the heart, that could breach that armour – I never really found out.

I did go back every month, almost like an addict, looking for my emotional fix. A few months in, I had asked if I could volunteer with them and was soon their door person. People I smiled at on their way in, slowly became acquaintances. And one of them also became a friend.

When people say they don’t know how to make friends as an adult, I suspect what they are saying is that they don’t have the time. Just like any other relationship, friendship requires an investment of time and effort, to build it, to maintain it. Showing up, consistently, is key and I don’t think there is any way around it. Even those who make instant connections, the extroverts, the outgoing, the quality of their friendships will not be all that good if they can’t do this.

It is a rare person who is not anxious with the unfamiliar. That’s probably why we gravitate towards people we know. Consistency breeds familiarity. Showing up, again and again, regularly, makes you someone who is familiar even if you don’t speak. It is an unconscious signal that you are safe, that you mean no harm. Do this long enough and someone will connect with you eventually. Or you will feel comfortable enough to start a conversation.

One of the cardinal rules of dating apply here too – do not be desperate. I have been asking my friends about how they make friends as an adult and related themes and one of them highlighted the need for authenticity. Do tell people about yourself. Do ask sincere questions. Last weekend, at a festival with two relatively new friends, I asked if they had thought about how they will die before going on to tell them about all the ways I thought I will! There will be cases of shoving our foot deep into our mouth. But anything that comes across as desperate or inauthentic will just put a potential friend off. And I don’t think we can be authentic if we don’t know ourselves, at least a little bit. That requires work too.

A few months ago in Toronto, on a Bumble date with one of the loveliest people I have met so far, I made an offhand comment about new friendships being more difficult than new relationships. When called out to explain, I had to try to remember where that notion came from, something I had strongly believed for a long time. A new friendship will always be less of a priority than a blossoming relationship. Investing in a friendship, when you accord it a lower priority, requires more effort, more of a commitment even when the key components of both are the same – vulnerability, common interests and antagonists, consistency, authenticity. She said she doesn’t disagree. Not a wholehearted endorsement but I will take it.

I suspect my biggest gripes in therapy have been “what am I doing with my life” and how I am spending so much of my life on my phone. This Substack is hopefully killing two birds with one stone -- getting me off my device; and getting me back to writing. Ruskin Bond wrote his first novel when he was 17 and I can truthfully say that if I were to die tomorrow, my biggest regret is going to be that my biggest regret has remained the same for the last 25 years.

Having said that, I still do see this as just another attempt at blogging. I wonder how many people will remember Blogger. That was the first blogging medium I started on, so many years ago now. Then there were a couple of attempts on WordPress and at some point, I did have a Tumblr account. I don't think I ever went into Medium though I did consider it right now, as I was debating whether that might be a better option than Substack.

What will I write about? I don't know but I am going to start by posting some of my older stories. I do tend to write about things I know, places I know, people I know. Even when I write fiction, they are usually set in environments I'm familiar with.

Will I be regular? No clue. I probably don’t want that kind of pressure but I hope I will be. If nothing else, it should get me to stop complaining about being a consumer of content by being a creator instead. The one good thing, though, is that if this experiment is also a failure, it will fade into obscurity with no one the wiser.