The Ones Worth Making Time For

I’ve always been a believer in filling your cup with what brings you joy, happiness, peacefulness and fulfillment and over the years, this has come in a number of different ways for me. A comfy home, a happy family, a good meal with people you love, a great book and sometimes its that really comfortable cashmere sweater you just bought.

Aside from a good meal, more often than not, it comes down to the people who I surround myself with.

I’m not talking about making more plans for the sake of making plans, being busy so I can say I’m busy, and not collecting social obligations like badges of honour. I mean real time with the people I genuinely love, the ones who have shown up in different chapters of my life, and the ones who, in many cases, have stayed through most of them.

At this stage of life, that feels more valuable than ever but I know I am a person who has always felt this way. I have always surrounded myself with great people.

However, there’s something about getting older that changes how you see time. You realize how quickly months turn into years, how often everyone is “meaning to get together,” and how easy it is to assume there will always be another season, another summer, another birthday, another chance to make the trip happen.

Sometimes there is. Sometimes there isn’t.

As you start adulthood, your life gets fuller and busier, careers get demanding, kids need things - which often comes with its set of demands - parents age (what a mind f**k), energy changes, and schedules become Olympic-level logistics. Everyone means well, but meaningful connection can quietly slide to the bottom of the list if you let it.

That’s why I’ve been craving more intentional time with the right people, and recently I did just that while I am actively planning the next big trip.

Recently, I carved out that time with two of my closest friends in Palm Springs. You know those friends - the kind who know every version of me and still choose to show up. We stepped away from our routines, our responsibilities, and the constant pull of everyday life, and just spent time together.

Nothing overly planned but enough to feel like we were our 30-year-old-selves again and this filled my cup in a way that reminded me why this matters so much.

I want more girls trips, more milestone birthdays (gulp, 50 is right around the corner), more weekends away, more dinners that turn into long conversations, more mornings drinking coffee together in pajamas somewhere idyllic, more laughter that reminds you who you are underneath responsibilities, roles, and the endless mental tabs open in your brain.

Not because my life is necessarily lacking but because connection matters and it always has.

The women who have remained in my life through multiple versions of me hold something deeply valuable. They knew me before motherhood, before marriage and before my career. Heck, some of them knew me before puberty. Some held me in the girls bathroom at school when I found out I wasn’t accepted to a certain university and other’s were a should to cry on when I went through another breakup. But most, knew me before this pivot, and before my confidence was shaken and rebuilt. They all carry history, context, and perspective but oh so much love.

And the newer friendships matter too, the ones that arrived later and still found a way to feel familiar, grounding, and easy. Proof that meaningful connection doesn’t only belong to the past.

Some people meet you where you are. Some people remember where you’ve been. Both are gifts.

The older I get, the less interested I am in surface-level connection and the more interested I am in depth, warmth, ease, honesty, and people who feel like exhale energy.

The ones you don’t have to perform for, the ones who let you be funny, tired, reflective, ridiculous, vulnerable, opinionated, or quiet depending on the day. And more importantly, the ones who know your story and still choose you. Those are the ones worth making time for.

And the truth is, that kind of time rarely appears on its own. It has to be chosen. Booked. Protected. Prioritized.

You buy the flight. You commit to the weekend. You say yes to the birthday dinner. You stop waiting for the magical window where everyone is free, rested, financially comfortable, emotionally regulated, and available. And I’ve learned the hard way that that window does not exist, and instead, what does exist are small openings, imperfect timing, and the decision to use them well.

I’ve spent enough years thinking joy would fit itself in around responsibilities. More often than not, it doesn’t. It needs an invitation.

So this season of life feels less about doing more and more about doing what matters.

More time with the people who fill my cup, and storing more memories with the ones who have loved me through many versions of myself.

Because in the end, I don’t think we regret the trip, the dinner, the weekend away, or the time spent laughing until it hurts. We regret how often we assumed there would always be more time and the times we turned them down.