I should... play it cool

What dating taught me about adult friendmaking (and vice versa).

Rebuilding your social life in your thirties is a humbling process.

Particularly when I never anticipated having to do this all over again. Before moving Lisbon this summer, I thought I was pretty much set, friendship wise. In London, I only ever expected my social circle to evolve and expand, such as last year when I made a bunch of writer and/or book-loving friends, or a few years ago when I decided I needed more like-minded single female friends. That would happen, sure, but those newer friendships were the cherry on top of an established social life.

My current challenge, now that I have a Portuguese postcode, is a heftier one.

I’m not starting from a blank slate. I already have a handful of good friends here (thanks to years of visiting), together with a long-term friend from London who lives here. That means my feeling is more akin to my first day at secondary school – where I knew some people from primary – than it is to day one of kindergarten.

Still, starting secondary school was no small feat – and there’s a lot to think about. For instance, what do I call myself: ‘Chez’, the nickname by which my school and university friends know me, or ‘Francesca’, my more European-friendly first name, and the name I’ve used to introduce myself in recent years? What am I looking for in a friend: similar hobbies and aspirations, novelty and intrigue, or a fellow Brit who exudes the familiarity I sometimes find myself craving here? Where do I meet those people: out having fun (where I, in turn, am a lighter and more fun version of myself) or a more tailored environment, like a no-phones hike frequented by expats and travellers?

The answer is, well, all of the above. But also, not to overthink it. Overthinking is a concept I’ve historically taken issue with, particularly when I’m accused of doing it by someone else – because who are we to judge what’s going on in someone else’s brain? More recently, I’ve come to define overthinking as the moment where thinking outweighs doing – and becomes destructive.

And so, instead of overthinking, I’ve been doing; indiscriminately signing up to everything that looks vaguely interesting on MeetUp. For instance, the no-phones hike. See also a photography walk last weekend, populated mostly by – and I should have seen this coming – actual photographers, amateur and professional, who attended with their actual cameras (in stark contrast to the no-phones hike, my cracked iPhone 13 got a serious outing at this one). I’ve also been a Digital Nomads drinks; several Portuguese classes; and multiple writing groups; a podcast circle. I’m a regular at the local English-speaking yoga class, and I’m on the list for a silent-reading club, together with looking out for a book club to replace the one I started last year in north London.

All of this is to say that I have been busy, making friends and seeking community. Which is interchangeably (and sometimes simultaneously) fantastic and exhausting. It takes time, my more established expat friends assure me. Friendships – solid friendships – take time. You might click with someone instantly on a hike, but find you can’t trust them down the line; alternatively, someone you thought you had little in common with might prove a slow burn.

As I fell asleep, I gave myself a pep talk: slow down. Let things evolve. Don’t let the outcome you seek (e.g. a network of good friends who know you intimately, and vice versa) preclude you from seeing what’s right in front of you, projecting what you want (a BFFFFFFF!) on to a relative stranger.

In other words, be cool.

What’s funny is, this wisdom could just as easily be applied to dating, and yet in that sphere it was a much, much harder lesson to learn. While I have – I think – matured in my approach to dating, it’s funny to see the same impulses suddenly emerging in this ‘first day of secondary school’ stage of friendmaking.

Reminding myself to take it slow can be a challenge, when there’s a part of me that just wants a readymade circle to go for pizza and wine with every Wednesday. But I know, from looking back at my longstanding friendships back in London, that our bonds have been built upon years of shared vulnerability, laughter and long conversations. I can’t have predicted the outcome when it began, nor did I try to (if anxiety or urgency did occur during the early days of our friendships, I can’t remember it). I think this enabled me to see them as the person they were/are, rather than the friend I wanted them to be.

It’s not a perfect analogy, because romantic relationships are – typically – monogamous, whereas friendship is not. This means you generally already have some friends, when making more friends, whereas in seeking a romantic partner you are starting from a place of privation, and the choice you are ultimately leading to is a high-stakes ‘stick or twist’; win or lose. Whereas, with friendships, the spectrum is more like, ‘Will this person be a good person to invite to birthday drinks, or will they become the one I want to spend my entire birthday weekend?’ The ego cost is lower, and so’s the anxiety.

Still, I could benefit from applying what I’ve told myself throughout all these years of dating (‘You should play it cool!’) to my current process of friendmaking.

The romantic impulse is still there. I still believe that relationships – and I mean that broadly – are what make a meaningful, joyous life. I’ve already seen that love story play out in the friendships I’ve formed with people who were once strangers and now feel like family. My heart remains full of hope (and, at times, impatient).

But impatience isn’t what’s going to get me what I want. I need to be cool. I don’t mean cold and stand-offish. Friendship forming still necessitates some warm-heartedness: the kind that makes you taking leaps of faith, and risk rejection. Inevitably, there will be confidences, and invitations, that go unreturned, but you stand to win more than you lose (a piece of dating wisdom from a friend) – or, at least, you have to keep on believing that.

So no – I don’t want to be cold. But I do want to stay cool, and go slowly. As a friend of mine kept saying in the early days of her own – now very much established – relationship, you have to go slow to go faster, or indeed further. Throughout years of dating, I never trusted this – and I should have. That’s why, as I build the foundations of my Lisbon friendships, I’m doing so with care.