During my younger years in London, my neighbour cultivated a routine of blasting her radio each Saturday morning, with her floor – and my ceiling – bearing the wave of sound that whispered “I’m awake”. This auditory cue urged me to descend from my room in my nightwear and we would while away a considerable part of the day on the comfortable two-seater Ikea couch, feasting on Crunchy Nut Cornflakes, sipping cups of tea and tuning into Ant and Dec on SMTV Live. While I visited, she might set a load of laundry in motion or sort her clothing. Alternatively, she could take a moment to call her mother, while I attempted to dissipate the remnants of a hangover. Our conversations would weave through the saga of the week just passed. Despite the lack of online platforms to share daily snippets, we were never at a loss for captivating stories. The way we spent this time was unimportant; we simply revelled in our shared moments.
During a period when life in London was awash with late nights, stylish bars and trendy nightclubs, I wonder why the moments that once seemed unremarkable have become the most profound of memories? Reflecting on this, I believe it’s withdrawal from the ease and adaptability of that friendship that leaves me yearning for the past. Throughout the working week, we led divergent lives with different work colleagues and social interactions, yet our weekend gatherings rekindled our sibling-like bond, spending leisurely hours together without any obligations, plans or pretensions.
Fast-forward two decades, my friendships feel rigid like a plaster cast. They now find a place in my digital calendar, sandwiched between work deliverables and dentist’s appointments. Social meetings often necessitate advanced bookings and pricey tickets, pressurising both me and my friends to commit to gatherings we possibly can’t afford or are not up for when the time comes around. What happened to the simplicity of just hanging out?
Author and journalist Marianne Power has been grappling with the same thoughts. In her forthcoming book Love Me!, she reflects on the possibility of a life rich with love that doesn’t hinge on marriage or children and considers the importance of friendship in such life.
Paul Howard once mentioned how his bond with Humphrey, his pet and closest mate for over a decade, was a love like no other. Despite today’s hectic world that strives to schedule and structure friendships amidst home and work commitments, nothing compared to the simple, unassuming connection he shared with Humphrey.
A well-known Irish psychotherapist from Galway, Mary Lynn, observes the way socialising habits have shifted significantly over the last few years. The present generation, grappling with time constraints more than ever before, are continually wrestling to maintain a work-life balance that leaves little room for natural, effortless socialisation. This ongoing struggle to achieve a sense of place, either literal or metaphorical, inevitably affects people’s ability to engage in social interaction. Meeting friends has become an event fraught with the pressure of looking and acting your best, an added strain on friendships that previous generations did not encounter.
Looking back, it’s evident that our mothers had a very different friendship approach based around impromptu strolls or casual conversations in the kitchen. Their friendships were shaped by the simple moments they retrieved from their daily parental duties. Their existence was played out locally, unaffected by the forces that restrict us today. The escalating housing and cost of living problems push us to operate from distances, while we naively hope that online platforms will satisfy our social obligations, despite the complex truth being far from this ideal.
Power asserts that communities are splintered and individuals left isolated, with relationships often neglected. “However, humans are designed to live in harmony,” argues the 46-year-old. “We require relaxed, effortless communal moments.”
Lynn concurs. “Everybody should strive to create those laid-back moments of socialising whenever possible,” she affirms. “In these undemanding, casual interactions we feel recognised and listened to, which is crucial to our mental health.”
She discloses that the location makes a significant impact on the dynamics of social gatherings. “Our self-projections alter with our surroundings. Where do you find the real you? Most of us, if not all, find it at home. We feel and present ourselves differently when we’re comfortable in a space, and our positioning in relation to others also changes. Being side by side with someone instead of facing them leads to a unique closeness. Generally speaking, we act more genuinely when we’re in our own homes, resulting in more authentic exchanges.”
In Power’s view, what makes casual socialising truly special is that it doesn’t necessarily have to be “enjoyable”. It can act as a getaway from the drain of the demanding workplay cycle we’re all part of. “Sharing tranquil moments with someone without the pressure of being witty or sharing updates is comforting. This is when our true, gentle aspects that are often exhausted, alone, struggling and worried come to the surface,” she explains.
Power found her ideal companionship by casually spending time with two of her neighbours, Gary and Nellie, whom she befriended during the pandemic, a time without the stress to be “noteworthy” as everyone was confined to their homes. “Had I met them under different circumstances, I might’ve been overwhelmed by their intimidating appearance of cool tattoos and stylish e, but the lockdown served as a great equaliser.”
The trio carved out their personalised support network. “We’d just hang out, watch TV, and prepare meals jointly. Gary preferred my kitchen over his and since I’m not a fan of cooking, he’d step in to prepare our meals. I might engage in some reading,” she reminisces. This sharing of everyday, routine activities persisted even post-lockdown and strengthened their bond.
Lynn reckons that one possible solution to our reluctance towards hanging out, which we often perceive as unproductive token laziness, lies in blending it with daily activities or errands. This fusion enables meaningful and sincere conversations with friends without any need for monetary expenditure. Lyn suggests that for parents this is particularly practical, pointing out that the time spent while their children undergo football training or play in the playground can be an opportune moment to socialise with friends. Even walking dogs or completing the grocery shopping can serve as viable catalysts for hanging out.
Fiona Brennan, the mind behind the Internet platform and Instagram account called The Positive Habit, concurs that such pragmatic acts of aiding each other can deepen friendships. She argues this is even more applicable during current times when temporal, geographic and financial strains have an impact on our relationships.
However, Brennan highlights that issues arise with the habitual form of organised socialising we’re accustomed to, especially glamorous events. She identifies two core problems: the pressure of expectations and the invasive presence of social media. This omnipresent third entity can lead to discomfort, particularly during mandatory group photo sessions. Furthermore, Brennan perceives that such circumstances make us more defensive, exposed, and less inclined to openly express our thoughts.
Brennan suggests that the starting point for fostering positive friendship practices hinges upon distinguishing between close friends and casual acquaintances. She proposes analysing your emotional state before, throughout, and following a friendly encounter, asking: “Who sits in your front row?” If the meeting leaves you depleted instead of replenished, it could allude to an unhealthy dynamic. According to Brennan, mutual trust and respect are the bedrocks of successful hanging out.
“She asserts that spending time socialising is never a misuse of time, but rather something we should cherish and give importance to.” She elaborates, these casual, frequent exchanges are the occasions when we experience fleeting instances of joy, serving as a counterbalance for stress and depression and enhancing our overall wellbeing, mood, and happiness.
Isn’t there someone amongst us who wouldn’t benefit from an extra measure of such moments?