Everyone starts as strangers
Friendship in my twenties
“Is that Everything I Know About Love by Dolly Alderton?” I asked rather bravely to the kind looking stranger at the bar, sitting two seats down from me and clearly holding the book Everything I Know About Love by Dolly Alderton.
“Yeah,” she said, smiling and sort of surprised. “Well, I just started it,” she added a bit dismissively, “but yeah, we’re reading it for our book club,” she nodded to her neighbor, deferring to her on all matters book expertise.
“Have you read it?” the seat mate picked up.
“I have,” I said eagerly, “about a year ago, I guess. I love it so much — the perfect book for people our age.”
“You should join our book club?” the neighbor half asked, half laughed.
“Um, oh my god… yeah?” I said, as if it was a no brainer. It was. “I’m Madilyn by the way.”
They were Sarah and Lilly. We talked for three hours about birth order theory and compulsory heterosexuality and the customer who had been sitting between us just a moment ago, overserved and incorrectly guessing mine and the bartender’s star signs, repeatedly.
When we’d had two more rounds on empty stomachs —my cheeks flushing in red wine betrayal and the excitement of good conversation— Lilly said, “We were gonna go get something to eat, do you want to come?”
We went to a Belgian fry joint I’d frequented on drunken nights, ate standing up and still talking, then went our separate ways with me added to the book club group chat.
I haven’t been back to the fry place once, but I’ve seen them nearly every week since.
We fell into friendship easily, scaffolded by brunches and Barnes & Noble and the DICE app’s ABBA disco.
It was remarkable how quickly it all happened. One night I was reading my YA library book with the embarrassing cover at a bar —still new enough to the city that I didn’t have Friday night plans; still new enough to the city that I was determined not to sit in my apartment alone— the next, I was enveloped in the fast intimacy that is female friendship.
With archaeological precision, I worked to uncover the backgrounds and collect the stories of each of my new friends, determined to orient myself in this new world I’d been ushered into. I was surprised at each juncture by their welcomeness, by how much I already belonged.
They all knew each other better than me, but my arrival onto the scene, coupled with the moves of two of them to the city, catalyzed the formation of a distinct group, different from anything that any of us had had before. The pieces just sort of fell into place, and we all came together. There was a push from both sides.
Several months later, on Lilly’s 24th birthday, we were all drunk on soju and coming down from the high of our karaoke solos, seated around a rickety outdoor table set with tea candles and mismatch wine glasses in Williamsburg.
I took on the reflective, inquisitive quality I do on major milestones, asking the birthday girl what she’d learned, what her intentions were for the next year, etc.
Lilly being Lilly, she said she wanted us to speak instead. We went around the table saying what we loved about her, and I knew before we even got to me that I would cry.
“I love that Lilly is the glue. She brings people together, and knowing her has blown my life in New York wide open.”
My words were weighted, of course, with the truth that friendship hasn’t always come so easily to me. Lilly offering me her entire world —our entire world seated around this table, accepting me— was no small feat.
These days, we spend most of our time in neighboring movie theater seats or sprawled across one of our respective couches, reading and laughing and ordering in. We meet at a diner, we make espresso martinis and share tiny tops for going out. We dance. We have a sleepover and don’t leave until dinnertime the next day. Time passes rather kindly.
I still feel self conscious about the friendships I’ve lost; scared of what could happen to my newfound treasure, peace. But I try not to get ahead of myself; think, maybe, this is the love I deserve; that it’s supposed to be easy.
Being invited into this lazy girlhood —a friendship so refreshingly casual and spontaneous— has been quietly healing. It’s never a competition, and we’re all always winning.
So there it is: this miraculously lucky thing that has happened to me; that all started one year ago today.
The chances of talking to a stranger and it completely changing your life are low, but they’re never zero.
I encourage you to try it —What’s the best that could happen?
cheers to bravery and reaching out to fellow females!! so sweet.
i have met some really cool strangers by awkwardly starting a conversation. this is a good reminder to go for it.
Your friendship is my favorite 🩷 your words are also my favorite