The Dance of Friendship

There’s something so lovely about meeting someone without needing to know where it’s all heading.

Maybe that’s just one of the quiet gifts of getting older—we finally stop trying to write the ending before we’ve even had a chance to enjoy the beginning.

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about how friendships actually get built. It’s rarely through grand confessions or big, dramatic moments. It’s usually just... the ordinary stuff.

A favourite meal.

A song that shaped a season of your life.

A place you love.

A silly memory that still makes you laugh out loud.

Before you even realize what’s happening, you look up and see that you’ve been handing each other these little pieces of yourselves. Not enough to tell the whole story, just enough to say, “Here, this is a little piece of who I am.”

It’s funny. We tend to think depth comes from spilling everything all at once. But I’m not so sure about that anymore. I think depth actually comes from trust. And trust is a slow grower.

Trust grows every time someone just listens instead of trying to fix things. Every time they ask another question instead of turning the spotlight back on themselves. Every time they make room for a piece of your story without trying to own it.

Maybe that’s why I’m just not in a rush anymore. I don’t need to figure out today what a friendship is going to look like six months down the road. Today has enough sweet beauty all on its own.

I’ve also realized something else: none of us are just the sum of our past stories.

Our stories matter, of course. They shaped us. They explain some of the bumpy roads we’ve travelled—but they aren’t the most interesting thing about us.

Honestly? I’d rather someone get to know my laugh before my tears. My curiosity before my heartbreak. The things that make my eyes light up before the things that once broke me down.

The rest will come when trust has earned its place.

There’s such a peace in allowing someone to discover you one casual conversation at a time. A shared joke. A laugh at a BBQ. A common wound. A healed scar. A photo from a trip. A favourite recipe. A song that hits just right. Just a quick glimpse into a life that’s still very much being lived.

Maybe that’s the real dance of it all. Not trying so hard to become important to someone—just enjoying who they are, while letting them slowly stumble upon who you are.

If life decides to write another chapter, it will.

In the meantime, this one right here is pretty wonderful to read.