Extreme Heat Warning

Reflecting on friendships at 35

Today is my 35th birthday. In my … old age I’m starting to take stock of things more consciously  than in the past. Or maybe for the first time ever in some cases. I used to really, really care what people thought about me. I was very much susceptible to peer pressure and giving into what others wanted. I sought the attention and friendship of specific people and many of those people I haven’t talked to in years, or rarely in passing these days. And I’m better for it, not talking to them anymore. We only have the time and attention for a finite number of relationships before we’re spread too thin. Maybe that’s something that happens as you age or maybe that’s always been the case, but when we’re in our teens and twenties we pretend we aren’t spread too thin, lie to ourselves. Or maybe with age you develop the wisdom to recognize what’s worthwhile, what’s positive, what adds to your cup instead of draining it or making it overflow. And for me that’s a small number of close friends, a few small circles with various crossover. Especially for a couple without kids or plans to have kids, meaningful friendships are that much more important (shameless plug for the essay I wrote last year about our decision not to have kids that JMWW published: https://jmwwblog.wordpress.com/2025/11/06/creative-nonfiction-the-center-of-the-universe-by-cody-shrum/). At 35 I realize it’s not about the number of friendships you maintain but the quality of them, and at 35 I realize I’ve curated some high quality friendships and I value each for different reasons.

This morning and part of the afternoon I golfed with one group of those friends in an extreme heat warning: 99 degrees, Kansas humidity, no breeze, no clouds, opportunities for water few and far between. (Another realization at 35 is that I’m maybe no longer meant for “extreme” conditions). They could have said “nah, fuck that dude” but came out anyway and suffered through it together. One friend puked on the ride home after. I’m going to be incredibly sore tomorrow. But all things considered, worth it. Not a bad day with those guys at the course. (It did suck, though, and my short game needs some WORK.)

I also have quite a few writer friends these days which is something I wish my 18 year old intro to creative writing student self could hear me say, that writing is something he will do okay enough to have opportunities to meet friends because of it. Friends from college, my writing group comprised of past professors and classmates, people I edit with and have published alongside and fellow writers whose work I champion and vise versa. All of which I’m very grateful for. I was just part of an amazing reading in Columbia, MO to celebrate the publication of John Waddy Bullion’s new story collection, This World Will Never Run Out of Strangers, and all of those writers together gave me this surreal feeling of like, woah, these are writers I admire and I get to hang out with them? For free? I’m kind of part of this club? 18 year-old Cody wouldn’t believe that shit, for sure.

I guess what I’m rambling on about is that at 35 I’m thinking about all these friendships I’ve cultivated, the ones I’ve let lapse, the ones that are meaningful and significant, and I’m far more grateful for them winding up how they did than I would have been when I was younger. Getting older is kind of great. Here’s to 35.