I am thinking about my friends more and more these days. So many of the things I am brooding over or experimenting with require the feedback that only a trusted friend can give. Should I take on that new free-lance project or sign up for the sketch class I’ve promised myself? Should I get a second opinion? Should I let my hair grow out in all its mottled glory? Should I try to change my husband’s annoying habits? The concerns about babies that we sorted out with our friends when we were young mothers are now about us – and the rest of our lives.

I make time for my friends more conscientiously than ever before. They are high on my list of priorities for the good life. But as we change our lives, our needs shift, and those friends who may have been experts in one experience are less so in others. Since they too are changing their lives – they wouldn’t be my friends, if they didn’t have that dynamism – our interests may be diverging. That doesn’t mean the bond is any the less; I know who I would call first if Something Really Bad happened. But I am finding that I feel the need for new friends for the first time in many years.

Most of the friends I cherish are from school (one, with whom I have re-bonded over mutual professional interests was my best friend in third grade; we lost touch for thirty years) or work (I call the foursome I have monthly dinner with my “circle of trust”) or children (the dear, experienced mother of three who reassured me that yes, I could rub a little scotch on those tender gums), but nowadays opportunities are harder to come by. One woman I know who is working from home in a new community saw a woman in a yoga class who looked interesting. “I didn’t know how to approach her, though,” she said. “It was sort of like asking someone out on a first date.”

Another friend, a relatively new one at that, admits that she has consciously changed all her important friends in the last ten years. She actively cultivates women whose work she admires and who seem to be deeply committed to making things happen; they keep her on her toes, which is where she wants to be for the rest of her life.

I don’t expect to find more than one or two new additions to my inner cicle. The intimacy is so sensitive, the chemistry so subtle. Obviously we have to have lots of experiences and interests in common and a willingness to share our stories, but the most important ingredient, the one that builds a precious trust between us, is how we share our stories. How we listen. When we ask. How we attend to one another. How we laugh. That is why each new friend – and every old friend – is a gift.