Some kids collect baseball cards. Rare coins. Pogs. I collected friends.
I don't mean my bowl cut and affinity for "Goosebumps" were so damn magnetic that the other 8-year-olds just flocked to me: I literally collected friends. When we'd pile into my mom's Honda Odyssey for family road trips, I'd bring along a tattered notebook and every rest stop we'd make, I'd scour the food court in search of peers, introduce myself and jot down their names, hometowns, hobbies, etc. By the time the vacation was over, I counted myself seven "friends" richer. I know - super cool, right?
As the years went on, and my social skills became less mortifying, opportunities to make friends became more readily available. Relationships developed organically in classrooms, at summer camp, during drama club. By high school, I had a solid pack of besties. College essentially was an industrial strength friendship-foraging machine-how can you not bond over 3 a.m. Dominos, a Ronco Rotisserie infomercial and a 12-pack of Natty Ice with someone who shares your cinder-block cell? Even in my post-grad interning days, I was surrounded by people my age, with shared career-and-Happy Hour interests.
But then things started to change. As a full-time professional human, the 64-year-old man the next desk over didn't seem all that psyched about karaoke and half-price margs at the bar across the street. College pals had dispersed to new cities. When I did move back to Chicago, I found my remaining high school friends were all on almost incompatible schedules, and with my own nontraditional hours, socializing in general often takes complex planning.
So what's a friend-deprived 20-something to do? I won't go so far as to say I'm lonely. My boyfriend couldn't be a better partner and he keeps our place bustling with his buddies who've come to be mine too. When I can coordinate a rendezvous with childhood girlfriends, it's wonderful. I FaceTime my long-distance chums regularly. And my mom is always up for an afternoon of museum-hopping and wine. But, as much as I want to, I still struggle with the appropriate etiquette when it comes to befriending new people as an adult.
The gym always seems brimming with friend-making potential, until I can't figure out how to ask the girl in my Zumba class to grab coffee without it sounding like an awkward come-on. Working nights makes volunteering or the cooking courses I'd like to try tricky. There are social sports leagues but they require money I don't have and a lot of them cater to singles looking to drunkenly kickball their way into teammates' hearts (or beds).
My mom says once you have kids, that whole automatic friend-making system gets back up and whirring again as you meet other parents at PTA meetings and in the T-ball stands. After that, I'm assuming the friend frenzy just keeps going-I mean, a retirement community? C'mon, that's pretty much a nonstop house party with bingo instead of flip cup. But until then, I'll need to get creative.
Getting a dog has helped. I make small talk with fellow owners at the park, but so far no platonic sparks have flown. I'm still optimistic. Maybe I'll launch a friend-focused version of Match.com, or start a free club for friend-seekers. Maybe I'll scroll through the acquaintances who have accumulated on Facebook and see if there's anyone ready to take our relationship to the next, non-virtual, level. Or maybe I'll just say, "What the hell," dig out my old notebook and start collecting again.
Gwendolyn Purdom is a RedEye copy editor. She no longer has a bowl cut.