Concert Friends and the Desire for More Connection

It’s really, really hard to make friends.

Honestly, it wasn’t really a concern of mine. I never had the issue, at least since 2002.

But that was 23 years ago (look away and take a second if that realization stings a bit).

See, when I was growing up, I was with my mom in rural western Pennsylvania. And from a young age, I knew that it wasn’t for me. 

There wasn’t a lot to do. I didn’t fit in. I had no friends. I was a nerd (we all are) but I really, really struggled with making friends. 

Growing up around Clarion County for school and then spending weekends and the summer near Pittsburgh at my biological father’s house was quite the juxtaposition.

I had friends down there. There were things to do. I could be myself. It was so welcoming, and that followed me to college and beyond.

It’s why it’s been such a shock moving down to Georgia and having the feeling creep up again.

Is it me? Is it something that I’m doing wrong?

I’ve always been the type of person to tier my friendships. I know what to put into them, and what I’ll get back. Those tiers become more and more clear the older you get, to the point where you remove people from the tiers altogether (2016 and beyond has made that a lot easier to do.

My best friend lives in Boston. He’s Tier 1, and he’s the only one on that tier. It’s one of those friendships where it’s “no questions asked,” you say yes.

But while he’s always been there, I’ve always had friends in Tier 2 and below that were closer in proximity, which was nice.

But it’s been a real struggle to find that here. 

So much so that I keep falling into the same trap.

I go to an event, meet someone, think that it can start something, but it doesn’t.

In 2024, Jack White did a pop-up show in Atlanta. I was lucky enough to get a ticket, and while in line, I met a girl named Caity who flew down from New York for the show. We hit it off, and she explained that she met her husband at a Jack White show. We became concert friends, getting to the front of the stage together, holding each other’s spots when the other wanted merch, a drink, or to go to the restroom. 

We exchanged numbers and follow each other on Instagram. 

She’s a good person, and she’s a social media friend, but not a real friend.

Fast forward to the Sweet 16 and Elite Eight in Birmingham, Ala. I covered my expenses to go there this year, covering all games for Winsidr and Walking Bucket. Throughout the weekend, you’d see the same people. I got to meet Ben Pickman finally, my colleague at The Athletic, as well as the great Cassandra Negley at Yahoo! Sports. 

But I hit it off with a multimedia reporter for The Huntsville Magazine named Courtney. We rode the shuttle together, were walking around Birmingham together, and had a great time. We, too, exchanged numbers and followed each other on IG, but we haven’t been able to nail anything down. We text every couple of weeks to see what’s up, but that’s about it.

Blondshell, same thing. Hi, Magali! A nice person that I met while waiting and we follow each other on IG and will like each other’s concert posts, but that’s it.

So when I arrived at the Little Simz concert Friday evening, I wasn’t at all shocked to find myself chatting someone up and making a connection. This Benson Boone-looking ass dude got there about 35 minutes after I did (the doors opened at 7, and I got there at 3:55). It was only the two of us until 6:35, and while I expected him to start singing Imagine Dragons and do backflips all over the place, he ended up being a cool dude. 

He drove up from Orlando, Fla., for the show, and he’s moving back to his home in Fort Worth, Texas, this week.

We spoke about life. What we do. About horror movies. About the administration. About his life as a gay person in Florida. About his father’s passing. 

He was a really good dude, and at the end of the show, as the crowd cleared out, we exchanged numbers. 

He doesn’t do social media (jealous, to be honest), so I told him to hit me up if he’s back in the area at all.

I know that I won’t hear from him, but there’s still that hope, you know?

It’s the hope that an interaction that last a couple of hours, couple of days, will turn into something else. 

Because people always say how hard it is to make friends as you get older, and they aren’t wrong.

But the only comparison that I have, really, is when I moved to Cleveland. 

I was forced to make friends. I lived downtown, and with Jillian by my side, we had to get out in public at least four times per day for her to use the restroom and to get her steps in.

It was by design. I knew that I needed to make sure that I didn’t have an excuse to shelter in place too much.

It took a few months, but friendships blossomed. Drew and Karen. Sarah (the best designer I’ve ever met). Emily. Josh. Elaina. Mike. Nick.

Just. Fantastic. People.

I still keep in contact with half of them regularly, and consider them all good friends.

So when the first year down here came and went without any friends, I didn’t sweat it.

These things take time, I said.

But now, realizing the privilege that comes from this next sentence — I promise, it isn’t lost on me at all — we are in our beautiful home, that we own, in rural Georgia. It’s away from everyone. From everything. It’s 40 minutes from the city on a good day. 

And I just told Blayne Sunday during a difficult discussion around a number of things that I’m just miserable and not happy with life right now.

There’s the stress around being a one-income home. There’s the stress around working five jobs (this venture included) to tread water. The actions of an hateful administration attacking the most vulnerable communities. And the biggest part is just not having anyone else to turn to down here.

I can turn to any of my friends in any state for a call, a text, a Zoom. Even those who I know and never met in person. But having someone in person to connect with is different and, frankly, needed.

Blayne asked me — knowing how much I adore Cleveland — if I’d ever want to move back.

I paused. I said “I don’t know.”

I always joke that I want to. But I know that I would be moving back for the wrong reason. I would be moving back so that I can be near people.

But what happens when those people leave? When those people in a Tier 3 friendship outgrow me, too, and move down the list or out altogether?

Then I would have moved our lives — again — for the wrong reason. 

The good news is, there are a number of concerts coming up, and my anxiety of being stuck with a bad spot will definitely have me there hours early again, chatting up someone.

And who knows, maybe that will be the one to be an actual friend.

Maybe. 

Maybe.