I used to think keeping up with distant friends meant liking their Instagram posts at 2 AM.
Turns out, that’s not really how human connection works—at least not the kind that survives job changes, time zones, and the slow drift that happens when you stop sharing daily life. I’ve watched friendships I thought were solid just sort of evaporate because neither of us knew how to bridge the gap once we weren’t grabbing coffee every Thursday. The thing is, maintaining relationships remotely isn’t about grand gestures or perfectly scheduled video calls that feel like job interviews. It’s messier than that. It’s about finding rhythms that actually fit into the weird, overstuffed lives we’re all living, and accepting that sometimes you’ll go three months without talking and that’s—well, maybe that’s okay? I guess what I’m saying is that the rules I thought existed don’t really apply.
The Tyranny of Scheduling Video Calls Like They’re Board Meetings
Here’s the thing: we’ve turned catching up into a production. You open your calendar, find a slot three weeks out, send a link, and then when the day comes you’re exhausted and the conversation feels performative. I hate this.
What works better, at least for me and the people I’ve managed to stay close to across continents, is the low-stakes check-in. Voice memos while you’re walking to the store. A shared playlist with zero explanation. That app—wait, what’s it called—Marco Polo, where you send video messages back and forth asyncronously, so nobody has to perform being “on” at the same time. My friend in Berlin and I have been doing this for maybe two years now, and it feels more real than any of the stilted Zoom calls I’ve suffered through. We send each other ten-second clips of our kids being weird, or rants about work, or just our faces looking tired. It’s not polished. It shouldn’t be.
Why Sharing Mundane Garbage Actually Matters More Than Big Updates
Nobody tells you this, but the big life updates—engagements, promotions, moves—are actually kind of easy to share. You post them, everyone congratulates you, done.
The hard part is staying connected through the boring middle parts. The “I burned dinner again” texts. The article you send with no context because it made you think of them. I’ve noticed that the friendships that survive distance are the ones where we’re comfortable being unimpressive together. My cousin and I have a running text thread that’s just photos of truly ugly dogs we see on walks—been going for four years, roughly 800 photos, give or take. Is it deep? Not really. Does it keep us tethered? Definately. Honestly, I think we underestimate how much the trivial stuff does the heavy lifting in relationships.
The Guilt Spiral of Not Responding Fast Enough Is Killing You
Let’s talk about the thing nobody admits: sometimes you see the message and you just… don’t reply for three days. Or three weeks.
And then the guilt sets in, and the longer you wait the worse it gets, and suddenly six months have passed and you’ve convinced yourself you’re a terrible person who doesn’t deserve friends. I used to do this constantly. Still do sometimes. But I’ve learned—mostly from friends who are better at this than me—that the antidote is just acknowledging it. “Sorry, I fell into a hole for two weeks” is a perfectly acceptable message. Most people get it. We’re all drowning a little. The friendships worth keeping are the ones where you can surface after a weird silence and just pick up again, even if it’s awkward for the first five minutes. The performative consistency we think we need? It’s exhausting and it doesn’t actually reflect how human attention and energy work.
Rituals Beat Intensity Every Single Time
My dad and his college roommate—they’re in their seventies now—have played chess by mail for forty-three years. Not email. Actual postcards with moves written on them.
I think about this a lot. They’re not pouring their hearts out. They’re just maintaining a tiny, consistent thread. I’ve tried to build smaller versions of this: a monthly book club with three friends scattered across the U.S., where we barely talk about the book but we show up. A standing voice call with my sister every Sunday at 9 AM, which sometimes lasts two minutes if one of us is busy. The point isn’t the depth of any single interaction—it’s the recurring proof that the relationship still exists, that it’s worth a slot in the calendar, that you’re not forgotten. Anyway, I guess what I’ve learned is that consistency, even tiny consistency, beats those intense three-hour conversations that happen twice a year and leave you feeling drained.
When to Let Go Without Feeling Like You’ve Failed at Being Human
Not every relationship is supposed to survive distance. I know that sounds bleak.
But some friendships were built on proximity—you worked together, you lived on the same block, your kids were in the same class—and when that scaffolding disappears, there’s just not enough underneath to sustain it remotely. And that’s okay. I’ve stopped torturing myself over the college friends I don’t talk to anymore, the ones where we run out of things to say after five minutes. It doesn’t mean those years didn’t matter. It just means we were friends for a season, and the season ended. The mistake is trying to force every relationship into the long-distance format when some of them just aren’t built for it. Save your energy for the people who, even across time zones and life changes, still feel like home when you hear their voice.
