What If the Hardest Person to Find Isn't "Your Person"... It's Just a Friend?

I came across a post the other day that asked a simple question:

"At this point in your life, do you still believe your person is out here?"

The more I thought about it, the more I realized my answer wasn't yes.

It wasn't no, either.

It was...

I don't know.

Not because I've stopped believing in love, but because I've reached a point where even finding a dependable friend feels difficult.

People hear that and immediately assume you're talking about romance. I'm not.

I'm talking about something much smaller.

A text message.

A phone call.

Someone saying, "Hey, you want to play a game tonight?" or "You want to grab something to eat this weekend?"

Nothing grand.

Nothing dramatic.

Just someone thinking about you without you having to remind them you exist.

When you're younger, friendships happen almost automatically. School, work, college, mutual friends. You're constantly around people, so connection doesn't require much effort.

Then life happens.

People get married.

They have kids.

Their careers take off.

Their priorities change.

Nobody announces they're leaving your life. They just become a little busier every year until one day you realize the conversations that used to happen every day now happen every few months.

Nobody's necessarily done anything wrong.

Life just got full.

The strange part is realizing your own life didn't fill up the same way.

I don't have kids.

I'm not married.

I'm not juggling ten different social circles every weekend.

If someone texts me and says, "You want to play Call of Duty?" more often than not, I'm getting on.
If someone says, "Come help me work on my car," I'll probably be there.

Not because I have nothing better to do.

Because I have room in my life for people.

Sometimes that feels like a blessing.

Other times, it feels like being the only person who still has an empty seat at the table.

One thing that frustrates me is when someone asks, "Where you been?"

My first thought is always...

You have my number.

If you wanted to know where I was, you could've texted me.

I'm not asking people to check in every day.

I'm not asking to be the center of anyone's universe.

I'm asking for something incredibly ordinary.

A little reciprocity.

A little effort.

A simple reminder that sometimes I cross someone else's mind before I have to reach out first.

After a while, though, you stop initiating.

Not because you're bitter.

Not because you're keeping score.

Because eventually you get tired of knocking on doors that rarely open.

The hardest part isn't being alone.

I've learned how to be alone.

I've taken road trips by myself.

Gone to restaurants by myself.

Played games by myself.

Spent weekends figuring out how to entertain myself.

You adapt.

What wears on you is when everything becomes a solo activity.

When every morning starts with no missed calls.

No unread texts.

No one asking how you're doing.

No one wondering if you're free this weekend.

It's a quiet kind of loneliness.

The kind that isn't loud enough for most people to notice.

So, do I believe my person is out there?

Maybe.

I honestly don't know.

But these days, I'm not even asking for forever.

I'd settle for someone who occasionally picks up their phone and says, "Hey... you around?"

Sometimes, that's enough to remind someone they're not walking through life completely alone.

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