At the start of the year, something I took a lot of pride in was being friends with everyone. There was something about being able to wave at anyone and get a wave back or say “hi!” without thinking twice that made me feel on top of the world. On the surface, it seemed like everything was great. I felt comfortable going wherever with whomever. Preps would come up to me, saying something along the lines of, “Ohmigosh, you’re so great; everyone loves you!” I would respond to these comments by laughing and shaking my head, but there was a strange emptiness in my chest that didn’t go away no matter how many compliments I received.
It took me a long time to realize that this emptiness came from the absence of a concentration of close friends. Because on one hand, yes, I had people I could sit lunch with, gossip with, walk to class with. “I don’t believe in having a best friend,” I would lift my head and answer when people asked. “It’s better to have many many good friends. Not putting all your eggs in one basket, you know.” On the other hand, I didn’t feel like I had anyone that really knew and cared about me. I would often find myself sitting on a packed table or crowded room feeling inexplicably lonely.
Then—long story short—some “stuff” happened, and I lost some of my friends. At first, I felt like my world was crumbling. I didn’t know who to smile at in the hallways anymore; I didn’t want to go to lunch because I didn’t know who to sit with. My anxiety and self- consciousness reached an all time high. When I confided in one of my friend’s moms, she reassured me by saying, “If you’re friends with everyone, you’re doing something wrong.” I didn’t know it back then, but she was right. The silver lining of all this drama was that I came out of it becoming closer to some of the people I had originally only been “decent friends” with.
This doesn’t mean I don’t worry when I walk into the Dining Hall or still have moments when I feel out of place. But as my social circle began to shrink, the hole in my chest did too. I found a few good friends who I can feel like myself with. Who I want to actively stay in touch with and call weekly after I graduate. Who I can trust with my whole heart. When I’m with them, I feel unfathomably happy. That’s something I really treasure.
Recently, I saw an Instagram reel that resonated with me. The reel was a visual diagram of British anthropologist Robin Dunbar’s theory widely known as “The Rule of 150.” Essentially, the rule posits that whether it be in early hunter-gatherer societies or everyday modern life, the optimal range of meaningful relationships a person can have is between 100 to 200. Within this range, a person can only have 50 friends, 15 good friends, 5 close friends, and 1 to 2 special friends. Going beyond this range, Dunbar argues, leads to a lack of stability and cohesion.
At Hotchkiss, this phenomenon feels very real to me. We’re with people every single moment of every single day, which means our social battery is almost constantly being drained. Back at home, I can just go back home after school to be alone and recharge, but there’s no such luxury here. This means it’s even easier to be socially drained, which makes it all the more important to be selective about who you want to spend time with. Sometimes, that means you can’t be friends with everyone. Not that you can’t generally be a nice person, but that the average human literally does not have the emotional capacity to be true friends with everyone, and the attempt to do so—at least in my experience—will only prove to be draining.
Moreover, I’ve found that since coming to Hotchkiss, my sense of self has been eroding more and more. A huge factor is the fact that I tried to be friends with everyone. Human beings inherently have conflicting values, views, and lifestyles. Being friends with everyone means that you will inevitably have to undergo a personality-metamorphosis whenever you jump from one friend to another. Even disregarding how exhausting these transformations are, constantly changing oneself could lead to a fracturing, and even loss, of identity.
At the end of the day, we can only have so many “I care, you care” relationships. So—while there’s nothing wrong with doing so—don’t feel pressured to be in a large friend group or “be tight” with everyone. When you graduate from Hotchkiss, what are the chances that you’re going to keep in touch with the 200 people you say “hi!” to on your way to Snabe anyway? You don’t have to sit at a table with 15 other people during lunch to feel at home.
