Soon after, I took someone’s advice and started saying
yes to every social invitation I received. From colleagues, from housemates, from neighbours, even people I met in passing at parties. I joined group sports, trivia nights, work drinks, colour runs, and even found myself at an NRL game for a team I didn’t support (I can’t recall which one it was, but I remember being ill-equipped for
Sydney’s winter and shivering my way through the second half). I was motivated to meet new people — to fill my time. And slowly, over the years, I did just that. But then, somehow, my twenties passed.
COVID-19 hit, we retreated into our homes, and I forgot what it meant to form new friendships and meet new people. Forgot what it meant to work in an office, to make connections with colleagues, to play a group sport. I’d grown so accustomed to solitude and my own independence that I couldn’t remember the last time I’d reached out to someone and asked if they wanted to grab a coffee. I couldn’t remember the last time I took the initiative
to make new friends.