Making Friends Post 20-Something Is Harder Than Meeting a Mate

I moved out to Los Angeles a little over a year ago, knowing I would take a hit in the friend department. It was my choice to move. I dreamed about it for years. I wanted to experience West Coast living, trade my winter coat for a wetsuit, pick up my tennis game, spend the whole year outdoors and take long weekends exploring the great state of California in my (obligatory) convertible. The only thing that held me back from doing it sooner was fear. Fear that I would be too far from friends and family, that I would miss them too much and that we would grow apart. Fear that I would never find anyone that would quite measure up… and fear that I would.

However, my husband and I, just married and without a family of our own yet, figured it was the perfect time to be adventurous. So, we faced our fears and booked a one-way ticket to La La Land. And, thank God we did. We love it here. Our lifestyle is lighter, healthier and, arguably, happier. But that’s not to say it’s been easy.

We moved in mid-December from our window-encased, walk to work, brave the elements Manhattan high-rise desperate for sunshine, and for the first two weeks it rained. Profusely. It was nonstop, side-pounding, soul-drenching hail. My husband was busy (with work events each night) and I was depressed. The few friends we had here were also otherwise engaged with job functions and holiday parties and I was left to unpack our house alone, my tears mimicking the rain.

Frantic to call home, best friends, anyone that felt warm, comfortable and knowing, I rang and rang but the time difference proved to be quite the challenge. Once I woke and was driving to work, they were already there. My lunch hour coincided with their afternoon meetings, and late-day coffee break with their dinner. When I finally got out of work and headed home, they were likely in bed already. Who knew three hours could be so alienating?

I went from working in a fairly sizeable New York office with plenty of buddies to a small outpost in LA with only a few bodies and many different personalities. People there were sweet enough but no one really meshed, nor did they care to. To make matters worse, Los Angeles is particularly challenging because the main means of transport is driving. Not only does that limit bonding to a few drinks (one, if you’re a lightweight like me), but also with people so scattered, it’s hard to agree on a destination. In LA, if you have to cross the 405, it’s not happening.

After a challenging day at work, in need of a glass of wine and some commiserating, there was only one option: myself. (I’ve never been a solo drinker. To me, that’s a slippery slope. It’s like being left alone with an entire batch of cookies. I can’t be held responsible.) I love me some alone time, but after endless nights and weekends by myself in new, unsettling territory, I craved companionship. It was clear what I had to do: I needed to make some new friends — and stat. But how?