After decades of professional success and a major career change, I discovered I'd mastered the art of collecting contacts while completely forgetting how to make actual friends—and the realization of why hit me like a freight train.
Last month, I received a letter from a 72-year-old reader that stopped me cold. She wrote: "I spent decades building what I thought was a successful life, only to realize I'd forgotten to build real friendships. Now I'm surrounded by acquaintances who barely know the real me."
Her words haunted me because they echoed something I'd been feeling but couldn't quite name. At my age, with a career change behind me and what should be wisdom under my belt, I was watching my own social circle shrink. The realization hit hard: I was becoming one of those people who have no friends.
Not the dramatic, obvious kind of friendless. I had contacts, colleagues, people to grab coffee with. But real friends? The kind you call when life falls apart? The kind who know your fears and celebrate your tiny victories? Those were becoming extinct in my life, and I was starting to understand why.
1. You're still trying to impress instead of connect
During my two decades as a financial analyst, I mastered the art of looking successful. Every interaction was a performance. I'd share carefully curated stories about deals closed and targets exceeded, never mentioning the anxiety attacks in the bathroom stall or the nights I couldn't sleep worrying about market volatility.
Even after leaving finance, I carried this habit into my new writing life. I'd meet someone at a farmers' market where I volunteer and immediately launch into my credentials, my published pieces, my upcoming projects. The conversation would feel productive, professional even. But it never evolved into friendship.
Real connection happens when you drop the resume and share the mess. When you admit you're struggling with your garden despite writing about mindfulness. When you confess that some days, even with all your psychological insights, you still feel lost.
I learned this the hard way when I joined a women's writing group. For weeks, I showed up as "successful former analyst turned writer." Then one evening, exhausted from pretending, I admitted I was terrified I'd made a huge mistake leaving finance. The room shifted. Suddenly, everyone was sharing their own fears. That night, I made my first real friend in years.
2. You've confused networking with friendship
Here's something nobody tells you: treating every relationship like a LinkedIn connection will leave you emotionally bankrupt.
When I left my analyst position, I was shocked to discover that most of my finance "friends" vanished. No more lunch invitations, no more weekend texts. These relationships had been built on professional proximity and mutual benefit. Once I couldn't offer stock tips or industry gossip, I became irrelevant.
The painful truth? I'd been doing the same thing. I categorized people by their usefulness. This person could introduce me to an editor. That person had connections in publishing. Another might be good for career advice.
Friendship isn't about accumulating useful contacts. The people who stick around when you have nothing to offer, when you're not particularly inspiring or successful or put-together? Those are friends. Everyone else is just networking.
3. You're competing instead of celebrating
I once had a friend who turned every conversation into a subtle competition. If I mentioned running a 5K, she'd casually drop that she'd just finished a half-marathon. When I shared excitement about a published article, she'd immediately pivot to her three-book deal prospect.
The exhausting part? I was doing it too. Not as obviously, but the mental scorekeeping was there. Who was more successful? Who had the better relationship? Who was aging more gracefully?
This competitive mindset is friendship poison. It took ending that particular friendship for me to recognize my own competitive tendencies. Now, when a friend shares good news, I practice genuine celebration without immediately sharing my own accomplishments. When someone struggles, I resist the urge to one-up them with my own struggles.
Friendship thrives in abundance mindset, not scarcity. There's enough success, joy, and recognition for everyone.
4. You're afraid of being truly seen
For years, I performed friendship rather than experiencing it. I had my roles down perfectly: the wise advisor, the successful professional, the woman who had it all figured out. But these weren't friendships; they were transactions where I traded a carefully constructed image for social connection.
The problem with performance is that it's exhausting. You're constantly monitoring yourself, adjusting your mask, ensuring nothing real slips through. And the people around you? They're relating to your character, not to you.
I discovered this during a particularly difficult period when my mother was ill. Instead of reaching out, I withdrew, terrified of showing weakness. When I finally broke down and called someone from my writing group, she said something that changed everything: "I've been waiting for you to need something. Friendship goes both ways."
Being vulnerable doesn't make you weak. It makes you human. And humans are what we're all desperate to connect with.
5. You've forgotten how to prioritize relationships
When someone asks about my week, I can easily list work accomplishments, exercise routines, volunteer hours. But when did I last invest real time in a friendship? Not a quick coffee squeezed between meetings, but actual, unproductive, glorious time?
In finance, everything had ROI. Time was money. Efficiency was king. Even now, I catch myself calculating the "value" of social interactions. Is this lunch worth two hours of writing time? Could I be doing something more productive than this phone call?
But friendship doesn't operate on spreadsheets. It grows in the inefficient spaces: the long, meandering conversations about nothing, the spontaneous visits, the willingness to drop everything when someone needs you.
My writing group taught me this. We meet weekly, and honestly, we don't always talk about writing. Sometimes we spend an entire evening discussing failed relationships, aging parents, or the perfect way to roast vegetables (I have strong opinions as a vegan). These "unproductive" hours have produced the deepest friendships of my adult life.
Final thoughts
That 72-year-old reader concluded her letter with this: "I wish I'd understood earlier that success without friendship is just well-dressed loneliness."
She's right. You can have the career, the achievements, the perfectly curated life, but without genuine connections, you're just performing for an empty theater.
The good news? Unlike career pivots or major life changes, building real friendships doesn't require a dramatic overhaul. Start small. Share something real in your next conversation. Celebrate someone else's success without mentioning your own. Invest time in relationships that don't advance your career or improve your status.
Most importantly, stop performing and start being. The people who matter will appreciate the real you far more than the polished version you've been presenting.
Because at any age, whether you're 40-something like me or 72 like my wise correspondent, it's never too late to stop collecting contacts and start cultivating friends.
