Finding Friends After 30 & The Art of Belonging

Reflections on cultivating community (from someone who doesn't make new friends easily)

Welcome, I’m Lindsay. The Slow Studio is a space I’ve created to write about my approach to slow(er) living as a design studio owner, multifaceted creative, first-time mother and more. Keep up with me on Instagram and Pinterest.

Prior to this year, I lived without the presence of local, consistently close friend groups in my life for a long and lonely decade.

The shift into solitude happened swiftly, as it does for so many: we graduated college, with friends suddenly scattered across the country in search of that intangible “something more” along with their first taste of untethered adulthood.

Between 2013 and 2016 I moved three times: first to Atlanta, then to Denver and then to my present home city of St. Louis. Each move felt like a fresh start, but also like a premature farewell to the prospect of truly putting down roots within a community.

Somewhere along the way, I began to believe that every home was merely temporary and making new friends didn’t matter, anyway: I had my husband, we had our dogs and our routines and our hobbies. I had my best friends from college, although hundreds of miles and to-be-answered texts existed between us.

Wasn’t that enough? The short answer is no.

After Margot was born, I began to crave more in the way of community.

We’d recently moved into our forever home after many discussions about choosing to stay in St. Louis, to invest in building a life rich in experiences and meaning here – maybe even forever.

Something about intentionally choosing to stay in St. Louis awakened a yearning for real community inside of me that hadn’t made itself seen in so very long.

Although my friendship journey has been imperfect and long and meandering, as I share this today I feel so proud of how far I’ve come and hold such anticipation for the kindred spirits I’ve yet to meet!

Here’s an honest glimpse at how I’ve cultivated some of the most life-giving friendships in my 30s, through a mix of mom friends, neighbors and fellow creatives.

An idyllic day in the park full of friendship, fresh air and toddler antics.

How I’ve made mom friends (although I was so very nervous to!)

After deciding to pursue full-time motherhood during my daughter’s early years, I knew that establishing a close group of likeminded mothers would be essential – not only for my wellbeing, but also for Margot’s.

My most cherished childhood memories include time spent with my “other moms:” the women who my mother pulled into her own inner circle and mothered me with the same love they bestowed upon their own children.

What I didn’t know at the time, however, is that fostering those friendships is much easier said than done and often felt like a full-time job in and of itself.

I grappled with a lot of anxiety during Margot’s first year, and honestly didn’t leave the house very much until she was six months old – mostly due to the frigid Midwest winter, but also because it just felt so daunting.

We began to emerge and immerse ourselves in library lap times, stroller walks and playgrounds, and yet most of the moms in these spaces kept to themselves.

It made me start to wonder why we were shielding ourselves – either by choice, or not – when we were all experiencing this tender stage of life in tandem.

Last winter I realized it was a lack of vulnerability – especially my own lack – that kept us floating on these isolated islands of motherhood, and it was time to make a change.

I got unapologetically honest about the qualities I was seeking in motherhood friendships: women who viewed motherhood as an ever-flowing art, not a rigid science; who valued and respected their individual identity as much as that of a mother; who possessed interests, unique tastes, hobbies or work outside of their children.

From there, I forced myself to get real and get vulnerable – or vulnerable for me, at least. Here’s what that looked like:

• I started initiating the small talk at play groups, when I historically waited to be approached first. This felt so intensely scary and awkward for someone like me, who errs on the side of reserved. Most of the small talk went nowhere, but some of it evolved into true conversation – and those were my people.

• I asked for numbers and took the chance on texting first within a quick timeframe to keep the friendship ball rolling, even when my anxiety shouted at me to wait at least 24 hours as too not look “too eager” or “desperate.”

• I invited new friends into our home for an early evening dinner and play date – sweating and laden with inner self-doubt the entire time – but closing out the evening feeling a little more confident that these interactions were leading to something more.

And with time, they did.

Moments from the most magical night in our home.

Last month my husband and I hosted four other families at our home for a summer cook-out, and as I stood in the yard supervising all of the toddler splash pad antics, it all felt surreal.

All of the things that I believed were helping me look “good” – my rigid perfectionism, my desire to be perceived as having it all together, my tendency to overthink to the point of inaction – were the exact things standing in the way of this real community of mothers that has seamlessly woven itself into the fabric of our days.

How I’ve made neighbor friends that feel like kindred spirits

Moving into the home that Margot will grow up in added a sense of positive pressure to really getting to know our neighbors beyond the typical over-the-fence pleasantries this time around.

I received a wink from the universe the day that we moved in, when our next door neighbor came outside to greet us and, after a bit of conversation, we realized that we lived in the exact same neighborhood back in Atlanta, mere blocks away!

I’ve grown to learn that we’re all connected by a common thread – it just takes the courage to have the conversations and ask the questions to tie it all together.

Where the majority of our casual hosting happens: the screened-in porch!

After unpacking our moving boxes and settling in, my husband and I started reaching out to our new neighbor community in the ways that felt most authentic to us:

• We shared bread and baked goods with neighbors, asking if they’d like our extra loaf of weekly sourdough or a half dozen cookies fresh from the oven. Soon, we started receiving our own porch treats in return: from hearty soups in the fall to stuffed peppers in the summertime.

• We made a point to attend block parties (even if we sometimes didn’t feel like it) and to always return home with the number of a new acquaintance, with the intent of getting to know each other more soon. Side note: block parties remind me so deeply of the 90s cul-de-sac gatherings that I grew up with, which makes my nostalgic heart happy.

• We simply said “yes” more than we said “no” to getting together with neighbors on a whim. As I’ve gotten older, I’ve fallen into the rut of planning hang-outs at least a week in advance, but there’s something easy and of-the-moment about text-inviting a few neighbors over for patio drinks after Margot goes to bed for the evening.

A forever-favorite dish for casual hosting: penne tossed with olive oil and seasonal ingredients.

How I’ve cultivated a community of fellow creative souls

…who also happen to be childfree, which I appreciate!

As a creative director, I crave an unapologetic conversation about typography, design trends and what’s next in the creative world.

While some of my existing creative connections took a slow fade after Margot was born – and I don’t blame them; we’re in two very different seasons of life at this moment in time – I made a point to keep in touch with friends who held similar values in noticing the beautiful little details of life.

One thing I love most about spending time with these friends is that our conversations rarely, if ever, touch on the topic of motherhood, daily routines or how well one of us slept the night prior. Our time spent together feels so refreshing and reminds me that, yes: I am still a person, too, outside of my primary role right now.

A gallery walk and talk with a friend has become a favorite pastime.

In the midst of a major life transition, I committed to fostering these friendships in a few ways:

• I made a point to reach out first to get together, after realizing (and hearing firsthand) that a lot of these friends didn’t want to “bother” me in fresh motherhood, while I was figuring out what this new stage of life looked like. Whether through a ‘Just wanted to check in – how have you been doing?’ text or proposing a coffee meet-up, taking the initiative went a long way.

• Buying concert tickets, reserving time to visit a gallery or committing to other nighttime events has been a great way to connect with these friends and meet new ones while we’re there together. I currently live walking distance from three of the best music venues in St. Louis (!), so have met friends at local shows during the week while my husband stays home with Margot for her bedtime routine.

• I’ve prioritized fostering interests and hobbies that I can savor with these friends; now more than ever, maintaining a sense of identity outside of motherhood while creating new memories together has been so important for my overall wellbeing. Meeting up at craft or cooking classes, or heading to the botanical garden for a walk have all felt like so much fun as a shared experience.

Although it may sound like I have this whole friendship thing figured out, this is the honest truth:

I’ve stumbled my way forward through making new friends in my 30s, while wrestling with conflicting feelings of joy, awkwardness, appreciation, isolation, community and imperfection.

If you’re feeling similarly, I hope you’ll rest in knowing that you aren’t alone – and knowing that your people are out there, eagerly anticipating the day that a common thread of community will tie you both together.

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