A theory of friendship

What determines closeness?

For a while now, I’ve been passively asking myself, “What makes someone a friend?” It’s not the friendships I do have that have prompted this questioning, but rather the friendships that didn’t materialize when I really thought—and hoped—they might.

I’m reminded of many interactions I had while living in New York. The multi-hour conversation with the barista at the original Kabisera in Lower East Side. The two guys I met while volunteering with Apex for Youth. In both situations, there was an initial spark—something that gave me some hope it could lead to something more—that was quickly snuffed out by “I’m busy” without the follow-up of “How about the week after?”

I've realized I can, and often do, project my want for connection onto others, which leads to disappointment. Much of, if not all, the amazing experiences and growth I’ve had are a result of my bias for connection — how proactive I am even when it’s not always reciprocated. I guess this makes me think others view its importance similarly, but that’s not always the case. I’ve been routinely challenged by this mismatch, and have come to (slowly) accept that not everyone wants to connect or be friends. A beautiful moment can be just that; it doesn’t have to turn into anything more.

I don’t usually use frameworks, but the more this experience has continued happening in San Francisco, the more I’ve noticed patterns in what creates lasting friendships.

Friendship = Resonance x Commitment x Time Spent

Resonance

Resonance is a fancy way of asking, “Do I vibe with you or not?” It can really be that simple. In the past, I’ve found myself trying to explain why I didn’t vibe with or like someone, but that was just my people-pleasing part showing up. You don’t have to explain your “no.”

In my experience, resonance seems to be some confluence of:

1. Values alignment

2. Quality of presence

3. Sense of humor

Values alignment

When I was younger, friendship felt a lot simpler. Sitting next to someone in class, being on the same sports team, or sharing a cultural background were enough for a friendship to develop. I met my freshman year friend group, the people who would shape my college experience thereafter, because I was wearing a windbreaker with my high school lacrosse team’s logo embroidered on it.

Without much reflection, shared contexts give us a sense of who we are, and we befriend those who reinforce this sense. But when we dig a layer deeper, we start to realize proximity and experiences aren’t sufficient for a lasting connection.

Beneath contexts are values, which tell you what you care about. They’re the lens through which you view and show up in the world. If someone shares the same lens, you’ll likely feel more seen, heard, and understood than by someone who has a far different prescription. It’s no surprise I felt so unseen when I worked in investment banking, an environment where people value material success over personal fulfillment.

I recognize that this isn’t always the case, but it stands most of the time. Sure, you can resonate with someone who shares a different set of values, but unless you both value openness, it’ll be hard to meaningfully connect without trying to change the other person. Are you really friends if you’re trying to do that?

Quality of presence

Someone’s quality of presence is undefinable, yet clearly felt. We often call it energy. Is it soft or thorny? Flowy or grounded? I have friends who describe this in terms of elements: Fire, water, earth, and air. You probably have an idea of what each of those is pointing to just by association.

There’s a range we each naturally vibe with and gravitate towards, where interacting doesn’t feel very effortful. When you’re with each other, your energies—beings—meld in a way that feels quite pleasant. As someone who considers themself quite gentle and grounded, I don’t do as well with people who are thorny and fiery; I’ll likely excuse myself from the conversation at some point. But if they share a quality—fieriness paired with gentleness—we’ll be alright.

Sense of humor

Laughter might be the most honest indicator of whether you actually resonate with someone. How easily you laugh and joke around with someone is a great indicator of psychological safety. Of course, it can also be a mask against anxiety, but to genuinely laugh or tease someone, you have to drop any protections or masks you have. There’s no “What if they think I’m an asshole for laughing at this?” You’re smiling. You’re fully exposed. You’re fully yourself.

Shared humor reveals a similar view of the world — what’s absurd, delightful, and just all around worth not taking seriously. It points us to “How childlike— free—can I be with you?” When we’re joking and laughing, there’s so much joy and freedom. It’s why in romantic relationships we often focus on someone’s ability to make us laugh. Because if you can’t laugh with or joke around with someone, life just kinda sucks.

Commitment

When I left college, I had a huge relationship tracker in Notion with over 40 people. I tagged each person as “Friend,” “Close Friend,” “Acquaintance,” or “Mentor,” which determined how often I’d reach out. Evidently, I ended up experiencing what I shared earlier. Most people didn’t reciprocate—commit—as much as I did. It felt bad, and the badder it felt, the more resentful I grew. The more I sat with this resentment, the more I realized I'd been creating my own suffering by wanting to be in connection with people who didn’t share the same sentiment. I culled the list down pretty drastically. I later stopped using it entirely.

While high resonance can correlate with high commitment, it doesn’t guarantee it. As I’ve shared, I’ve met people I felt a spark of a friend connection with, and assumed they felt it too. But without action, the spark remains latent potential.

Commitment looks different for different people. In my case, I schedule recurring calls with friends every two or three weeks. With some, we have a reminder to “Text to find time to catch up” on the first of every other month. I automate the investment of time and energy in friendships so that I don’t have to think about it. Connection happens routinely on its own, which is especially important when you no longer live near each other.

There’s a deeper level of commitment that matters more than logistics, a different kind of investment. How much effort are you putting into seeing your friends more clearly — more freely? We’re all constantly unfolding; the “self” we thought we were a year or even a moment ago isn’t the same. Are you meeting someone right now, or holding onto who they were before?

In my experience, this is determined by the work you’re each putting in (or not) to discover more about yourself. This quote by Matt Kahn captures it well:

“You can only meet someone as deeply as they've met themselves."

The more you peel back and discover about yourself, the more there is to reveal, the more vulnerable you’re able to be. The vulnerable parts of ourselves, the parts we often keep hidden, are indispensable to who we are. And if we allow them to be seen—no easy feat—then we can experience a depth of connection we didn’t previously know was possible.

To see and be seen—without judgment—is priceless; it’s love. In that way, our relationships can be an incredible mirror and source of deep relational healing if we allow them to be. My closest friendships are ones where I can complain about life or admit that I feel scared, which I subconsciously avoid because parts of me care about being conscientious and having it “figured out.”

Vulnerability also shows up amidst conflict and discomfort. When someone does something that hurts or bothers you, do you pretend it didn't happen or bring it up? There's nothing quite like quiet frustration or resentment to drive a wedge between friends. My strongest friendships aren't the ones without conflict — they're the ones where we've learned to be vulnerable, share how we’re feeling, and work through misunderstandings rather than around them.

Circumstances make commitment more difficult; I won’t pretend they don’t. Maybe one of you is married with kids, and the other is just a hot, lonely single in the area. And that’s okay. The commitment is firstly based on a felt sense, not the amount of time spent, though that does matter.

Time Spent

Time spent together isn’t sufficient for friendship or closeness, but matters. You need both quantity and quality. It’s why we cherish friendships from our childhood or college days, even if we’ve grown apart in certain ways. You spent so much time together, it’s annoying how well you recognize their “isms” and they recognize yours. They saw you before all your highfalutin bullshit — they see you for the essence of who you are without the window dressing.

When resonance is there, the time spent can really deepen your connection. There’s a reason I didn’t become friends with the associate I worked late into the night with, but I did with C. In both cases, we were grinding away on the keyboard, but with C, it became quality time. We asked and heard about each other’s dreams, beliefs, and values, and found they aligned. We vibed. We laughed. Kindred spirits on the opposite end of a Zoom call.

And honestly, there’s something special about someone who has been around you a lot. There are more opportunities to see and be seen. Even if I feel equally resonant with and committed to our friendship as I am with another, 300 hours a year together versus 30 hours feels way different. It’s why I care so much about living close to my friends, and why it’s a bummer I can’t live close to all of them…unless we all lived in a village.

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When I view my friendships through this formula (I feel weird saying that), they become less amorphous and more tangible. I’m not necessarily using it to score each friendship and create a power ranking in a spreadsheet, but I’m mindful of it. It helps me see more clearly why certain connections flourish while others fade, even when I really hoped they wouldn’t.

This formula doesn’t eliminate disappointment, but instead helps me understand its source more often than not. When someone doesn’t text back to initiate, I can remind myself that it may be a mismatch in commitment rather than rejection. Or when a friendship feels effortful, there might not be enough resonance, and we’re trying to force it.

Ultimately, these variables will change over time as you and life do, as well as the weight we give each one. When we're younger, time spent is enough, but insufficient as we get older. Or when we're older and have more responsibility, resonance and commitment carry more weight. It's why we grow apart from and break up with friends we once thought would be our best man or maid of honor. It's why we grow closer to the person we thought was annoying when we first met. Perhaps someone sheds values that were never really theirs, and suddenly you find yourselves seeing through the same lens. Different friendships appear during the season of our lives when we need them. Sometimes, they stay for a while; other times, barely enough time to say goodbye. All of it remains beautifully unpredictable.

I still project connection onto beautiful moments with near-strangers. But now, when those moments don’t develop into friendship, I don’t take it as personally. It’s just not in the cards at this moment, or perhaps will ever be. All we can hope for is to be open to who shifts in and out of our lives, and regardless of who they are, show up fully and let our actions reflect our commitment.