Last week, someone asked me who my best friend is. And I realized, I didn’t have an answer. Not because I don’t have friends—God, I have friends—but because the question is sharper than it seems. It asks for a choice, a hierarchy in something that can’t be measured that way. Right now, I’m okay with how I think about my friends, but that question made me pause.
Do I have a best friend? I suppose it depends on the day. There are friends I can tell everything to and feel safe with, but I see it differently. I have friends for every moment: one I go to concerts with, one I explore pop-ups with, one I can talk to for hours, and some I simply feel at ease with. These friends don’t know each other. They live in different worlds. And yet, each one touches something real in me.
At the end of the summer, I realized I had spent it working, moving through time without breathing. While watching I.W.G.P., a show set partly in a bowling alley, I wanted to bowl. Actually, I don’t think I wanted to bowl at all—more than anything, I just wanted to hang out with friends, even if I didn’t realize it at the time. It seemed sudden, a small desire—but small desires sometimes carry a weight. I reached out to a few of my mutuals, and some said they would come. I stopped for a moment, wondering who to invite. How everyone would get along, and if the mix of people would feel right. My mind felt a little messy trying to imagine how the night would unfold.
In the end, I went with two friends. One I had known for a long time, someone I felt safe around. The other I had met through social media and later at his work. I didn’t know him well, but the fact that we both use this app was enough to make me feel at ease. I was nervous. I was nervous because these two friends had never met before, and I hadn’t hung out one-on-one with one of them either. Meeting new people and getting to know them like this felt both nerve-racking and exciting. The night was gentle. We laughed, shared stories, and even in the small silences, I felt a sense of ease I hadn’t realized I was missing—a quiet happiness I hadn’t felt in a long time.
Looking back, I see why that question was always hard to answer. “Best friend” isn’t a simple word—it shifts. You might call someone that, and they might not call you back—and that’s okay. But as a kid, it felt like everything. To be someone’s best friend, and for them to be yours, it felt like the world made sense. Maybe it still does for some. For me, that need has faded. In its place is something steadier: a circle of friends, each present in their own way, and that’s enough.