Apr 2

Apr 2 What I've discovered about later life friendships

My unexpected later life friends, meeting together for the first time in Provence

I’ve come to realise relatively recently, that I assumed my circle of friends would be pretty much set by the time I reached my fifties. That by then the stages and phases of my life would have thrown me together with all the people I might be likely to form friendships with, whether that be because of our family connections, or sharing the experiences of school, further education, work, parenting or hobbies.

Sure, I recognised that I would encounter other people who I would get along well with, whose company I would enjoy, as the years piled up. But ‘proper’ friendship - the kind that really matters, that touches your heart and supports your soul - I thought that was something only built over years and shaped by proximity and common history.

Well, dear reader, I was entirely wrong.

Just before the pandemic I was introduced to a woman by a mutual friend. We hit it off immediately but didn’t manage to meet up before Covid closed down the world. Our budding rapport was partly fuelled by our shared interest in ageing well, a focus she felt could be usefully and fruitfully explored by bringing together a number of other women who she knew shared the same passion.

And so our little group was convened for what became weekly, two hour conversations on Zoom throughout the duration of the pandemic, and which have continued monthly since. Three of the six of us live in the UK: our convener, who is a Canadian, spent many years in France and now lives with her second, British, husband in central London, an American married to an English man for over thirty years and living in Surrey, and me, the only native Brit of the gang. Of the other three, two are in the States, one in Chicago, one between New York and Florida, and one is in Ottawa. Our ages span from early sixties to mid seventies and our backgrounds are equally wide-ranging, embracing high level consultancy, successful careers in the corporate and education worlds, journalism, entrepreneurship and marketing expertise.

Predictably our conversations have spread far beyond the initial focus on ageing, encompassing our lives and families, our hopes and fears, and all the challenges we have each inevitably faced, both in the past and during the five years we’ve been talking together. Steadily our mutual sharing and support has built into a rich interwoven friendship, albeit one that has existed only on-line.

Until now.

Because, whilst I have been lucky enough to spend face-to-face time with both the other UK-based Old Broads (our moniker for our little gang), last week (at the time of writing) five of the six of us met together in person for the first time (sadly the NY/Florida old broad couldn’t make it). We convened in a fabulous house on the outskirts of a picture-perfect town in Provence and spent five precious, sun-soaked, joy-filled days acquainting ourselves with the 3D versions of the previously screen-contained women we had come to know.

Old Broads abroad. From left to right, the OB from Ottawa, me, the Chicago based OB, the OB living in Surrey and in the front, our convener

I found myself studying them as they talked and gestured, drinking in their smiles in real time, delighting in the way they leaned in when they were listening and revelling in how, alongside all the familiar warmth, intellect, humour, insight and kindness I’d come to value so much on screen, there was new depth and discovery. The Canadian old broad, our most senior member age-wise, though you’d never know it, was revealed as a talented artist. The ebullience and intelligence of the OB from Chicago were both magnificently magnified in person.

We went on excursions, hiked in the nearby craggy hills, shopped in the local market, cooked food together which we shared over long, languid meals, and talked, and talked, and talked. On line the six of us had built our friendship through the uniting but still strangely isolating medium of technology. Being physically alongside each other, hearing the cadence of each others voices and the exuberance of our laughter, was entirely different. It was joyous.

Home now and reflecting on both the time we had together and the way such a disparate group - both physically and in terms of lives and experiences - have become so meaningful to each other, has shown me that new friendships aren’t time-tied. They can come along at any stage. And that the ones that present themselves later in life can have a special sweetness and significance.

The older we get, the more time we have to truly invest in one another, to savour our connections and to appreciate being known, seen and cared about by others. Maybe too, because we have lost people along the way, we cherish those who are here even more.

It is a gift to find friends in unexpected places. It is a gift to discover that deep, meaningful connections can be formed at any age. And it is a gift to finally sit beside someone you’ve known at a distance, hold their hand, and say, “I’m so glad we finally made it here.”