I have no idea how to make friends in my 20s. I’m out of university, working full time, and absolutely exhausted. Everyone is moving away, or moving on. I’m starting to think think I’ve missed the mark and am now destined to entertain myself with puppets.

At 23 I feel as if life has presented me with a round about. One of the twisty ones that traps you until you’re forced to take a risk, frantically yelling sorry to the other cars as you illegally cut through to escape back onto the highway. 

I’m alone in the car. It’s the kind of alone where it’s fine, but also feels strange on Fridays when my millennial coworkers ask me what my plans are and I say ‘nothing exciting’ when internally I’m screaming trying to escape my mental round about.

It’s getting to the point where if I saw someone cool waiting at a bus stop I might pull over and offer them a ride. I won’t, obviously, that would be creepy: pulling over, one headlight out, eyes swollen from scream crying to Unwritten, trying way to hard to make my offer seem nonchalant and unthreatening.

Is the socially acceptable answer a book club? A run club? Church? A baby? How many hobbies do I need?

Most nights are spent alone or with my boyfriend, who I Iove very much, but it’s not the same. He’s not a fun 23 year old girl. He’s a boy. I have to introduce him to all of the great things in life, like binge watching Love Island and a skincare routine. It’s charitable work to be sure, but it would be nice if someone else brought the face masks to a sleepover.

Growing up I thought your 20s were the pinnacle of existence. La creme de la creme. I for sure didn’t think I would be crying this much, wondering when I would be able to afford a trip to Toronto to visit my friend who’s just had a baby, or taking a shot to send a text to someone I haven’t reached out to in 3 months.

I don’t remember how I made those friends back in school. Potential friends seemed to appear next to me in English class and that would be it for the next 7 years. But I don’t have English class to rely on anymore and we’re all different people now, though I don’t know who I am yet.

Last weekend I was at a bar, and there was a group of 4 guys. They ordered a mimosa tower. It was cool, I can’t lie, them sharing their mimosa tower, smiling and laughing. And then one of them went to the washroom and came back with 2 more guys. Then 2 more. And then another 2, luring them in with their vat of booze. The group multiplied so quickly they had to move to a bigger table. I’m not sure if the vibe in the men’s washroom was just hitting different, but I envied that. Being able to recruit new friends with a snap of your fingers, almost cooler than the mimosa tower.

Making friends is a muscle, you have to exercise it. Only like exercise it’s hard, and it makes me more tired than I already am. Maybe the answer is truly jointing a run club: two birds, one stone. Or maybe it’s a mimosa tower. Whatever it is, it’s hard, and I know I’ll cry a lot trying to figure it out.