Focusing on a smaller circle of friends made me feel less lonely.
Carrie Berk
Despite having a lot of friends in college, I felt like I was surrounded by strangers.
After a careful analysis, I discovered meaningful connections fulfilled me more than casual ones.
I stopped spreading myself too thin and have since focused my time on a smaller circle of friends.
My 21st birthday party was packed with a dozen faces I half-knew. They all smiled as I blew out the candles and made a wish, yet I felt as if I were surrounded by strangers.
As I looked out into the crowd, I realized that most of my friendships were surface-level, rather than genuine connections. We talked about upcoming school assignments, trending TV shows, and our favorite restaurants, but I wanted more.
What was supposed to be a celebration turned into a rude awakening: Did these people even know me at all?
I've always been someone with many hobbies, which meant making friends across all walks of life. Although I'm lucky to have so many people in my corner, there came a point where it felt like I was collecting friendships like tokens rather than forming meaningful relationships.
The realization set in: I had tons of friends, but somehow, I was lonely.
I needed to learn how to distinguish casual friendships from meaningful ones
I realized friendships with a strong emotional connection were the most fulfilling.
Carrie Berk
Even years after graduating from college, I couldn't shake the feeling that I'd been collecting the wrong type of friendships.
I realized many of my relationships had been rooted in transactions or shared activities, which may explain why I was still feeling lonely.
Upon reflection, I noticed that the most genuine friendships I had involved some emotional depth and connection. I only have two of these in my life — one who lives close by, and another who is across the country.
Regardless of where they are, the empathy goes both ways — I share in their joys and sit with them through their struggles, and they do the same for me. We're not just shoulders for each other to cry on, but supportive pillars who help each other walk through life.
These were the friendships that fulfilled me most, and I needed to make more room in my life for them.
I used to be scared of sharing my feelings with friends, but I realized that it was the only way to strengthen my relationships.
Carrie Berk
In order to do this, I needed to figure out what was holding me back. I came to the conclusion that, when it comes to friends, I'd kept many people at a distance, afraid that opening up would make me seem like "too much" or leave me hurt again.
I'd also been spreading myself too thin, trying to maintain too many relationships instead of investing in the ones that mattered most. For example, I felt like I rushed through dinners to mentally check a box that I was keeping up the relationship. Not only was that a waste of time, but it led to major emotional burnout.
Now, I focus on a handful of friends with whom I can build a deeper bond. Even though I only have time to see a select few people, I make sure the few hours we spend together are packed with thoughtful, not superficial, conversations.
Recently, I spent some time with a work colleague outside the office, and we discussed how fitness helped us during difficult points in our lives. We connected on something beyond our jobs, and for the first time in a long time, I felt less lonely.
Once I stopped chasing a bigger circle and was more vulnerable, I felt less alone
Investing more time and energy into my close friendships has been so rewarding.
Carrie Berk
At first, it was difficult to let go of my larger circle. There's nothing wrong with casual friendships, but they couldn't give me the depth I was craving.
Instead, the friends I need are the ones who will hold me up at my worst and cheer me on at my best without expecting anything in return — and I never think twice about doing the same for them. These connections take more time and care to develop, but are well worth the wait.
Once I started watering the friendships I truly valued, I noticed our moments together aren't rushed, and our connection is stronger now because of the care we put into each conversation.
This year, I'm thinking about having a birthday dinner with two or three close friends rather than a larger celebration. Ironically, when I began filtering superficial relationships out of my life, I felt less lonely — and that's all I could have ever wished for.
It's fair to say that Deebo Samuel has a history of missing games due to injury throughout his career. His style of play contributes to that, and he was inactive for Monday night's Commanders and 49ers game due to a hamstring injury.
He's expected to miss "at least a couple of weeks," 49ers head coach Kyle Shanahan said after he hurt himself in a win over the Seahawks. But that doesn't mean San Francisco's offensive weapon isn't playing through his injury.
He most certainly is, and he's putting it all on the line as a wingman. Not just any wingman, an e-dating TikTok livestream wingman. Is there anything Deebo Samuel can't do? And no, you're not allowed to say stay healthy.
It turns out he's a sucker for romance like the rest of us who have dropped our guards and allowed ourselves to be. The role of the e-dating wingman is exactly what it sounds like.
Deebo played, through his injury it's worth pointing out again, wingman/matchmaker over the weekend. He hosted an e-dating livestream on his own TikTok account for a couple during their virtual first date.
From the looks of it, his services as the wingman may have seriously been needed. Let's just say one of them on the online date really outkicked their coverage here.
Those not as in touch with their romantic side left comments on the screenshot of his livestream like "Step away from Antonio Brown, we should be concerned."
Others with a more refined perspective understood what Deebo Samuel was up to while trying to help two people connect with one another.
If he's too hurt to take the field, playing through his injury by helping to bring a couple of people together using the power of the internet is "doing gawds work."
Best of luck to Deebo and to Bebo, for that matter. Whether a connection was made with the help of the 49ers receiver or not, Isabel is going to be just fine.
The author (right) found a connection in an unlikely place: her ex-husband's new wife, who later became his ex as well.
Courtesy of Julie Peck.
People often assume that my best friend and I are sisters, but our connection is a little different.
She's the now ex-wife of my ex-husband, though we connected while they were still together.
She has become my person, the one I turn to in good times and bad.
When my best friend Shelley and I are out together, people often ask if we are sisters, even though we look nothing alike. Shelley has dark hair, dark eyes, and very fair skin, and while I also have fair skin, I'm a blue-eyed blonde. We get the question so frequently that it's almost comedic.
"No," we tell whoever is asking, "we're ex-wives-in-law."
This always gets a laugh, and when we explain our story, it brings a moment of levity to whomever we've encountered.
Behind what we've made into a little joke for public consumption is a unique bond that a lot of people wouldn't understand. It's a bond forged by trials, reinforced by implicit trust and devotion, and topped off with a whole lot of laughter and joy.
Our connection is unique
"Our Husband," as we call him, was intent on Shelley and me getting to know each other before they married. He and I have two sons, and Shelley has two sons from a previous marriage who are about the same age as my boys.
This meant that we had many of the same interests as boy moms by default, but, as it turned out, we also shared many of the same tastes in music, art, and books.
One milestone event of my life occurred early in Shelley's marriage to Our Husband. Shelley and I went to see Prince in concert together shortly before his death. I will never forget that night, and I'm so thankful that I got to see him perform live. In retrospect, I could see the spark of our friendship starting to glow that night.
Strangely enough, though, the night that I count as the true beginning of our friendship was the night that the Diane Sawyer interview featuring Caitlyn Jenner aired. For me, this was one of those events in the cultural zeitgeist that seemed like it should be witnessed with someone else. As it happened, all four of our boys were on the swim team together, and the program aired on the night of a meet. So, I forced the situation. Our Husband was working that evening, and I told her I'd be over with food to cook dinner for all of us. I came to her house — the house that she shared with Our Husband, who was my ex, of course — and we made dinner for ourselves and the boys, drank some wine, and watched the interview. Our friendship grew from there.
Not everyone was on board at first
Shelley told me much later that she initially thought it was weird that, as Our Husband's ex-wife, I was so intent on being her friend.
She says her mother told her, "I think you might as well give in, I think she has decided you are friends." The truth is, I just plain liked her, and we had a lot in common, but her mom was right. I wasn't going anywhere.
The relationship evolved
Sadly, Shelley's marriage to Our Husband ended after four years. She has said that I put her back together after that all happened. I don't look at it that way. I simply was there for my friend. She emerged after that crisis like a butterfly coming out of its cocoon, and our friendship grew, battle-hardened, to a new level. Through all this, we shared parenting crises and triumphs, career battles and successes, and personal health scares.
Then, together, we went through something foundationally shattering for both of us. We both cared for our aging mothers, and connected even more deeply after they both died.
For a daughter, losing a mother is a life-changing event. On top of that, being a family caregiver, being involved in the deeply draining day-to-day process of shepherding a loved one toward and through their transition in death, is a solemn responsibility, the parameters of which are indescribable to anyone who hasn't experienced it.
As it happened, just by circumstance, Shelley walked those paths ahead of me and alongside me, and we held each other together through tears and laughter along the way. Shelley's mother died on March 18, 2019. My mother died on March 16, three years later. Shortly after she passed, Shelley, Our Husband, and I sat in my living room and toasted her with a round of her favorite drink, gin and tonics, in recognition of the valiant battle she had just completed.
Our Husband had thoughts
So how does Our Husband feel about Shelley and I being so close? For him, it's been kind of like the five stages of grief. First, he tried to deny that we were actually friends. Surely, we were just pretending to be friends — certainly, this was just a charade, we were just doing this to spite him. Then came anger. Apparently, we were friends, which just wasn't appropriate in his view. Next, there was bargaining. If we'd stop seeing each other, he'd be nicer. Then, of course, depression. Yes, Shelley and I were friends, and that just sucked. Now, there is acceptance. Sometimes, he refers to her as my "girlfriend."
Of course, a lot of time has passed, and I like to think that all three of us have grown a great deal. Shelley and Our Husband have been divorced for 10 years. My relationship with Our Husband has gone through many evolutions. He and I have been divorced for 14 years and apart for 17. Above all else, he gave me the greatest gift one human being can ever give another in making me a mother, and we have two wonderful sons who are young men now, out in society, being productive citizens.
Little did he know he'd also give me another wonderful gift when he got divorced for a second time. He gave me my best friend for life, my person.
After looking into my options, I realized that living together might be the best financial move.
It was awkward at first, but acknowledging the situation and setting boundaries helped.
I met my ex in Spain, on a warm October night in 2024. He approached me as we were both walking home from a boxing class and confidently started a conversation.
About two weeks later, we went on our first date. A few months after that, we took our first weekend trip together. In April, he surprised me with a key to his home. By June, I'd moved in.
Our relationship was built on genuine care for one another. Throughout our relationship, we always sought to support each other's well-being and growth. Of course, we had bumps here and there, but they were never significant enough to change our respect for each other.
That's why, when we agreed to break up in August because we saw our lives going in different directions, I wasn't at all surprised that we found a way to continue living together.
We broke up, but I stayed at my ex's house
I normally wouldn't have continued living with an ex, but it felt like the best option.
Aaliyah Alexander
Under normal circumstances, I would've moved out as soon as possible. I've always believed that you can't start to heal from a breakup until you cut all ties and communication with your ex.
So, I bought the boxes, tape, and bubble wrap, started looking for apartments, and began packing.
But then two weeks later, I lost a freelance contract that contributed a significant portion to my income. This, coupled with the fact that I was already in the middle of a lengthy visa process to make Spain my long-term home, only added to the stress of going through a breakup.
Seeing the distress I was enduring, my ex sat me down and suggested that I continue to live with him until I was able to get back on my feet again.
My first thought was that people would think I was out of my mind for choosing to live with an ex. Then, I started weighing the pros and the cons.
If I stayed, housing would be one less thing I'd have to worry about … but every day, I would have to see someone I'd just broken up with. Worst of all, I'd have to treat my ex like a roommate, as if we didn't just spend the past two years in an affectionate relationship.
If I decided to move out, I wouldn't have to see my ex every day, and I could focus on healing my broken heart alone — but I'd be in a tough financial situation.
Unlike my ex — who's lenient and open to pulling some extra weight when I can't make rent or contribute 50/50 on utilities — I knew that a landlord wouldn't necessarily care about my personal situation once the first of the month rolled around.
I chose to keep living with him.
At first, there was an adjustment period
Having honest conversations and setting boundaries helped.
Aaliyah Alexander
Those first few weeks were awkward. We'd already had separate bedrooms because of my ex's insomnia, but the changes to our routines and interactions felt foreign.
Instead of getting a text inviting me to come cuddle with him on Sunday mornings, my phone remained silent. Instead of getting ready and walking to the gym together in the afternoon, I started going in the morning.
Instead of sitting down to have dinner together, we ate at different times in different rooms. Whenever we saw each other, we would force a smile, say hi, and go our separate ways.
We didn't acknowledge the strangeness of our situation until one moment broke down the barrier. I was used to having crying sessions in my room, but this time, one snuck up on me while I sat in the living room. The stress of my breakup, finances, and living situation had just built up too much.
My ex was passing through the living room when he saw me crying and gently asked if he could give me a hug. I nodded.
This interaction prompted us to finally discuss the elephant in the room (well, house): Living with your ex is weird. Simply addressing the situation and talking about how we were both coping instantly made it feel a little bit lighter.
We found a new way to live together
What followed was a conversation about how we wanted living together to look like. We knew we were doing something unusual, which was daunting, but also meant we were free to make our own rules.
Our first decision was to stop acting like strangers. Barely acknowledging each other's existence just didn't work for us, so we welcomed a level of friendliness into our new relationship.
Then, we decided we'd continue offering each other a certain level of emotional support. My ex recently took a leave of absence from work to heal from burnout and contemplate his next career move.
Meanwhile, I was struggling to find full-time work and sustain the life I was building abroad. Being there for each other when one of us needed a listening ear felt important.
Lastly, we agreed not to cross any lines that would confuse the other person. We weren't in a romantic relationship anymore, so we decided that any affection beyond a friendly hug would be prohibited.
With this, our living situation went from something that felt unbearable to something that works for us. In the next few months, I plan to save enough from my freelance work to move out. Until then, I'm happy knowing I have a home, even if it's with my ex.
When we're feeling stressed about money, my instinct is to run the numbers and account for every financial what-if. He's a big-picture dreamer who sees what something could become and is more willing to say, "We'll figure it out."
His attitude has paid off before. He had the vision for our first home, which we bought for under $100,000 and recently sold for a decent profit after 13 years of renovations.
I know some of the best things we've done together wouldn't have happened without my husband's willingness to take a chance, but our differences have still caused some friction over the years.
Now that we're building a new home together, we're trying to balance my need to plan for the unknown with his belief that we'll find a way forward.
After 13 years, we took a risk and sold our home
We sold our home and bought land in a part of Maine we love.
Lisa Leslie
For 13 years, we'd lived in the same place. My husband had moved frequently as a child, and he wanted his two daughters to have a consistent place to call home.
Leaving this house behind was bittersweet, but my oldest stepdaughter had just bought her own house, and my younger one was heading off to college. We were ready for what came next.
We could have bought an existing house needing renovations. Instead, we found land in southern Maine that felt worth taking a risk on.
We've always loved the area. My family has an annual reunion there, where we spend a week at the beach. Our new property will hopefully give us that lifestyle without the summer crowds: It's more than 2 ½ acres with hiking trails next door, a nearby kayak and paddleboard launch, and the ocean just a short drive away.
We decided to go for it, and by the end of August, our old house was nearly empty. My younger stepdaughter left for college on a Wednesday, we moved the rest of our things to a rental on a Thursday, and officially sold the house that Friday.
Every estimate comes with an 'unless'
If excavators hit ledge, our costs could go up.
Lisa Leslie
In September, we began building our 1,500-square-foot house.
We're now paying $3,000 a month for a rental home — with a construction loan on top of that — and keeping track of a lot of numbers, from lumber and labor to excavation, plumbing, electrical, permits, and finishes.
My husband is doing most of the construction himself, which is what makes this project possible. If we had to pay for all of the labor, we probably couldn't afford to build right now.
However, that's not to say this hasn't been a very stressful time. We think we've accounted for everything, but every estimate has an asterisk: Unless lumber prices go up. Unless a contractor's price changes.
Unless we hit ledge — that is, solid bedrock beneath the soil that can be expensive to excavate. We might have to rethink the foundation or adjust the entire plan once we see what's underground.
I find that uncomfortable, but my husband doesn't.
We're leaving room to adjust
We've made some compromises, and we'll likely have to make more.
Lisa Leslie
My husband can picture what this property could become over time, and has big dreams for it.
He wanted a garage, a small cottage where our family could stay when they visit, a little more space, and nicer finishes in some areas. I kept bringing us back to what we could afford right now, and how much we wanted to keep in savings rather than put everything into the house.
After a lot of discussion, we decided to start small. We're building for the life we have today, while — at his request — leaving room for the one we might want tomorrow. The garage and cottage can wait. For now, we're focusing on getting the house right without stretching our budget too far.
That means staying flexible. For instance, my husband wants a finished basement, and I agreed, knowing this would give us the option to add a third bedroom down the road.
Though the cost difference between a basement and an unfinished crawl space isn't huge upfront, hitting ledge could put us thousands — or even tens of thousands — over budget.
We're willing to give the basement a shot, but if excavation costs start climbing, we may have to scale back to a crawl space and save the extra bedroom for another day.
We have a plan, but we know it might change once we get further into the build. I'll keep making the spreadsheets and asking for the numbers. He'll keep looking at the big picture and reminding me why we decided to do this.
This project, and my husband, have taught me that financial responsibility isn't necessarily about eliminating every risk, but knowing which risks are worth taking and staying open to changing course.
The author and her husband are spending a lot of time together after retiring and becoming empty nesters.
Courtesy of Susan Teresa
When my husband and I became empty nesters, he retired, too.
We used to have busy, individual lives, but now we are always together.
It took a lot of adjustment and honest conversations, but we're learning to navigate our new normal.
My husband and I have been married for 26 years, together for 32. That's more than half my life. I thought we'd experienced just about every version of our life together.
Then we became empty nesters. And then my husband retired.
We're now together 24/7 with nowhere else we need to be, and I realized that all these years, I'd never spent this much time with him.
Since the day he brought home his office belongings, I've caught myself thinking more than once, "Oh, you're still here?
Our home feels different now
Without school schedules or workdays organizing our lives, we have more unstructured time than we know what to do with. We navigate quiet hallways lined with unoccupied bedrooms.
We now split the responsibility for coddling our cat, who suffers from separation anxiety. We announce, "We're back," to the furniture and the cat, forgetting we left the house otherwise empty.
Our aching hearts inspired us to collaborate on a shared list of silver linings. We drafted wish lists, imagining what we could do now that we no longer had to accommodate five personalities with varying interests.
While we shared many ideas and dream list to-dos — things like traveling to Tuscany for cooking and painting retreats — we hadn't anticipated that our day-to-day would also require attention and planning.
The trouble with together-time all the time
Throughout our marriage, my husband and I had always noted how similar his parents and mine were. Connected at the hip, one parent was seldom without the other.
We, on the other hand, prided ourselves on allowing each other space. We'd spent decades insisting we weren't like them — valuing independence, traveling separately, and encouraging each other to pursue our interests.
Then, when my husband retired, we instantly became our parents. With freedom to do whatever we wanted, we fell into the rhythm our parents had modeled: together all day, every day.
Sometimes you really can have too much of a good thing.
I'm an introverted writer who loves spending time in my rich inner world. He's an extroverted adventurer always on the go — kayaking, swimming, walking on the beach, sometimes all three in the same day.
One day, the realization that we had to structure our time hit hard. I'd been sitting at my writing desk when my husband opened the door to ask what we were having for lunch.
Not wanting to be rude, I talked with him for a moment, then asked for a few minutes to finish my thought. He left. I stared at my screen, hands still on the keyboard. My thought was gone.
While we enjoy being together, we're learning the importance of agreeing on when to be together and when to allow each other space.
We're creating a new rhythm
Mornings offer the perfect opportunity to plan our day over coffee, breakfast, and a card game — usually rummy. Between playful attempts to end each other's winning streaks, we check the weather, compare plans, and decide what we'd like to do. Our morning ritual helps shape our lives now that external demands no longer impose structure on our time.
Unless we have plans with friends, mealtimes serve as natural meeting points. An unexpected result: his cooking is improving. I'm now enjoying gourmet meals in the middle of the day, and again at dinner. He gets to run around outdoors, while I get to lock myself in my attic feminine sanctuary and write.
In the evenings, we wind down together. After sharing a home-cooked meal, we enjoy a movie or simply each other's company.
We're embracing new opportunities to grow together
Now that we're home together most of the time, honest communication, negotiation, and compromise have become essential tools. After decades of countless demands on our time, we're now free to choose how we spend it.
We're not always perfect. Some days, I join him outdoors when I'd rather stay home. Sometimes he interrupts when I'm in the flow.
I'm learning to ask for space when I need it. He's learning that he can pursue his desire to travel — even without me.
After 32 years, I never imagined we'd have to learn how to spend time apart. Having all the time in the world together doesn't mean we have to spend every minute of it that way.
These days, staying happily married sometimes means knowing when to leave each other alone.
A powerful reflection on the pull of nostalgia, on learning to accept that a past life is gone even as you tentatively reach back for it. Tiffany Huang captures the ache of lost opportunities and regretted paths, of staying a course out of duty and responsibility even as your sense of home erodes. It’s a gorgeous, bittersweet read about what it means to move on long before you’ve fully let go.
You unmasked for the first time, revealing smooth cheeks, a sharp chin, and a long nose. You talked about your book, in progress for several years now, about a Hong Kong man drifting aimlessly around the world. I asked you how you felt about the protests and noted the resignation in your tone. You wanted to write a book about what it meant to be a man from Hong Kong; if Hong Kong disappeared, what would happen to the man? You told me about your family, and it was clear we were not meeting to talk about writing anymore. When you spoke, you chose your words carefully. You didn’t ask me about my boyfriend, only how I felt about returning to America. When I hesitated, you did not ask why, and when I spoke, you listened instead of interrupting me. I didn’t want to leave.
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