As a hopeful teenager, I always envisioned that my adult life would include the following things:
- a super cool job
- an awesome apartment in a vibrant city
- the funnest group of friends that live minutes away
- a pretty boyfriend whose totally into me.
Yep, you guessed it – sitcoms shaped how I imagined my future was going to be (I’m looking at you Friends), and my group of fun adult friends were going to be a huge part of it. There would be the almost-equally sarcastic funny guy with whom I could take the piss out of everyone else in the group, the even kookier girl with whom I could chat about all my crazy ideas, the cool fashionista, the dumb super handsome one, plus Monica and Ross. It would all be amazing; we’d have a few life struggles, but those would be fixed with a group hangout at the local
coffee house pub.
Surprisingly, adult life hasn’t turned out like that – at least not yet. I have half of the list (score!) but the funnest group of close friends bit is a little bit lacking.
It’s actually rather difficult to make new adult friends. There seems to be this idea that everybody already has enough friends, so why would they want to add you to their busy adult lives? But realistically, their Facebook friend count is completely non-reflective of their actual social life, and they’d probably quite like a new chum to watch and discuss American Horror Story with. Unfortunately, making new adult friends is a bit like dating; asking them to go for after-work drinks is just as nerve-racking. But if you’ve picked well, you may have just started the beginnings of a beautiful friendship.
This dream adult life of mine actually got me down over the last few birthdays; why don’t I have my versions of Chandler, Phoebe, Rachel or Joey in my life yet? Where are my epic group of friends that never fail to come to my birthday (except that one episode of Phoebe’s birthday, which they all showed up to, eventually)? It was as if I had declared myself a loser from not having such a fictional group of friends, which is just stupid.
I’ve now come to realise how silly I was being – I like how I have individual chums all over the place. Each close friend has their own place in my life; ones that I see to have a bottle of wine or three, ones that I see to talk sex, ones that I see to reminisce over teenage years – it’s pretty ace.
Having that one-on-one time is so great for when you haven’t seen a particular chum in a while. Nothing really beats it – you have the best catch up, and there seems to be a freeing aspect to speaking your mind in front of one person, rather than worrying yourself about the opinions of six other folks, who might just not be on your wave-length and not find your witty comment funny in the slightest.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m sure there’s plenty of those big group selfies on Facebook of Friday nights out, in which they all look super happy and completely sloshed from having a genuinely good time. Some people are really good at these big groups of friends. I’m not. In secondary school I was always better at being with a smaller group, or just the one friend. My personality might be a bit mad, but it can only spread to small numbers – I’m not very good at putting my humour across to a large group of people (unless written).
So I don’t really care that I don’t have that big group of friends. I don’t need them. I have perfectly wonderful friends for all the different parts of my life, which is totally fine and brilliant.
But if the fictional group of Chandler/Phoebe/Rachel/Joey wanna come round for whiskey and box-sets, I’m still totally up for that.