A Field Note on Friendship and the Full Dance Card

There’s a particular kind of warmth that comes with old friendships, and I’m feeling it deeply this week in London. It’s the shorthand of a shared history, the ease of being with people who knew you before you became who you are today. There is no performance, no need for context. It is the simple, profound relief of being seen.

As I get older, I’ve come to appreciate these enduring connections more than ever, perhaps because I know how difficult they are to replicate.

Moving to New Zealand in my early 30s was an adventure, but it also came with a quiet challenge I never anticipated. I found that for many people, their social circles were already established. No matter how nice I appeared to be, their "dance cards were full." There simply wasn't room for new, close relationships.

I’ve often wondered about this. Is it a migrant thing? A New Zealand thing, with its famously reserved culture? A bit of both? I’ve struggled to build the same depth of friendship I had, and it's something I continue to consciously work on. This is compounded by the incredible mobility of the population; even when connections are made, they can fizzle out as people move on.

It makes these moments of reconnection in the UK all the more precious.

These friendships are the quiet anchors in my life. They are the reference points that remind me of who I am at my core. Being back here, in the easy company of good, old friends, is a powerful reminder of how vital that grounding is. And for that, more than ever, I am profoundly grateful.