After I wrote about moving to the suburbs near Columbia, Maryland, for love — and the nostalgia that hit when I missed living in my hometown, Nashville, after that relationship ended — people began reaching out.
They sent kind messages and suggestions for how I could get more involved locally. One reader even invited me to visit her church, which I happily accepted. The gesture was generous, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that I hadn’t found my people.
I had built a life in Maryland over more than a decade, but it was centered on a relationship. When I got divorced, many things remained — the townhouse, the neighborhood walks — but the sense of belonging didn’t.
After my divorce, I tried dating, but I learned that it was more important to focus on building community after neglecting to do so for years. The more I thought about it, the more I realized that romance wouldn’t create the support system I needed.
So I did something different. I downloaded a friendship app.
I downloaded a friendship app
Creating a profile for friendship felt like a familiar exercise. With a background in marketing and copywriting, I approached it the way I would destination writing by describing what a day with me might look like. I uploaded photos that captured highlights from my life: a sunny day on a boat, a beach getaway.
Then I started swiping.
At first, I kept things simple with coffee, walks, and low expectations.
One woman and I traded travel stories. Another invited me to go rock climbing, which I hadn’t done since college. Saying yes to these friend dates reminded me of who I used to be, and who I still could be. Still, neither connection developed beyond that first outing.
My calendar began filling quickly as I continued to meet more people, but activity alone wasn’t the same thing as connection. Some conversations also never moved beyond the app; many of the women I connected with lived 20 to 30 miles away, and those matches rarely turned into in-person meetups for logistical reasons.
I decided to adjust my approach.
I invited people to work events, and it created deeper connections
At the time, I worked in event marketing for a local hotel that hosted live music, seasonal gatherings, and community events designed to bring people together. Instead of simply promoting those experiences, I started inviting my matches.
It changed everything.
My job created a built-in setting for connection. What began as casual invitations to events I was already attending gradually turned into actual friendships. It taught me that connection can grow more naturally when you’re inviting people into a life you’re already living. Before long, I was sharing other plans and seeing who wanted to join.
The friendships that lasted weren’t formed during a single meetup. They grew through seeing each other repeatedly.
There were small but vivid moments of joy, like going to rock concerts or salsa dancing with new friends. One night, I went dancing in Baltimore with someone I’d originally connected with through one of my after-work meetups in the suburbs. Going into the city together meant sharing the drive and navigating parking. It was a small thing, but it reminded me that friendship isn’t built only through fun. Sometimes it’s built through the logistics of showing up together.
One of the most impactful moments was when a friend came through for me shortly after we met, as I navigated a dating situation. During a long conversation, she gently encouraged me to maintain firmer boundaries. I remember wondering whether I would have had the capacity to show up that way for someone else. Seeing her do it for me made me realize I did.
Friendship became my priority
At some point, I realized I didn’t need to keep swiping to build a community around myself; I just needed to nurture the support system that was already forming around me. Instead of focusing on meeting more people, I started investing more deeply in the relationships already taking shape.
Creating deep friendship requires showing up for each other, and in the early days after my divorce, I hadn’t been ready for that. Over time, these new friendships helped me realize that I was. Columbia began to feel less like the place I had moved to for someone else and more like a place that belonged to me.
At times, the city can still feel quiet. However, now I know I have people to call for a walk, a concert, or dinner. Making these friendships didn’t happen all at once. It happened one conversation, one invitation, and one friendship at a time.
