• 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

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.

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

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.

• 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.