I divorced and realised I didn’t have my own friends. How I made more at 60

At 60, I made two decisions that changed my life: I ended my marriage and I moved. I went from a barn conversion in the countryside to a flat in town. I briefly considered a bigger city, but instinct told me a town would make it easier to get to know people. Somewhere walkable. Somewhere human-scaled. Somewhere I might belong. What I hadn’t fully anticipated was how completely my social life had been wrapped up in my marriage. (Photo: Ilona Gierach Photography)

No friendship network of my own

My husband and I did things together and met people through shared activities, but we didn’t really build friendships beyond that. Like many long-term couples, we were quite contained. When I moved, I realised I didn’t have a friendship network of my own. I see this pattern constantly in my coaching practice. One client, newly divorced at 58, told me she’d realised all her friends were actually her husband’s friends: his colleagues, his golf partners’ wives. When she left, she discovered she’d spent 30 years being sociable without building her own social foundation. So I set myself a task. I needed to make some friends. (Photo: Vimvertigo/Getty)

Dancing

I knew about meet-up groups, and the first thing I tried was dancing. I joined a Bachata dance class. On paper it was ideal. In reality, I was still grieving the end of my marriage, even though it had been my decision. I remember standing in that class with tears rolling down my face. Everyone else was younger and already knew each other. Breaking into conversation felt awkward. I didn’t go back. (Photo: Andia/Universal Images Group via Getty)

Gym and cinema

Next, I joined a local gym, hoping classes might offer some connection. People do make friends that way. But one conversation stayed with me. I was chatting to a woman in the pool when she said, “You’re terribly brave to start again at 60. You’re never going to meet anybody at your age, are you?” It was said casually, but it hurt. I tried a cinema group, but it was essentially meeting outside, watching a film, and leaving. I realised I was happier going to the cinema on my own. (Photo: Getty)

A meet-up group that felt different

Eventually, I found a meet-up group centred around music. That felt different. Music has always mattered to me, so I had something solid to talk about. I asked the organiser how I’d recognise them. “We’ll be the two old guys by the door,” he replied. They were about my age. We chatted, listened to music, danced a little. Someone mentioned another event the following week. I went along, not expecting to be recognised, but one of the men spotted me and said, “I’m so glad you’re here.” Then he introduced me to Wendy. Wendy was one of those women who quietly gathers people in. About 20 years younger than me, she had a gift for noticing who needed a nudge. “Let’s meet next week,” she said. “Do you want to come to a party?” I hadn’t been to a party since my teens. She took me to a Halloween party, where I met Cathy, who remains one of my close friends. Through Wendy and Cathy, my social life began to take shape. Invitations followed. Introductions multiplied. (Photo: Oscar Sanchez Photography/Getty)

People who felt like me in spirit

I tried other groups too: women’s breakfasts, ladies’ lunches. Some were pleasant enough, but they never quite felt like my tribe. It wasn’t about age, but temperament. I didn’t want people who simply matched me demographically. I wanted people who felt like me in spirit. Later, through a return to dating, I discovered improv comedy. A first date mentioned an introductory course. We went together. He dropped out after the first week. I stayed. Improv didn’t lead to close friendships, but it gave me something just as important: regularity. Every Wednesday night, I belonged somewhere. Over time, familiarity did its quiet work. (Photo: Getty)

Local theatre

I also volunteered at a local theatre. I didn’t make close friends there either, but it reminded me there’s a difference between having something to do and somewhere you belong. Both matter, but they are not the same. We’re often told it takes around 100 hours to form a real friendship. That’s hard when you’re starting from scratch in spaces where everyone else already has a shared history. What helped most was saying yes, even when I felt awkward or tired. I knew that if you keep saying no, people eventually stop asking. A client in her mid-60s who relocated to be near her grandchildren put it perfectly: “I had to become a professional yes-sayer for about a year. Book club? Yes. Neighbourhood coffee morning? Yes. Volunteering at the food bank? Yes. About half led nowhere, but the other half opened doors I’d never have found otherwise.” But making friends isn’t just about turning up. It’s about how you show up. (Photo: Jon Cartwright/Getty)

Interested and interesting

It helps to be interested, but also to be interesting. Many people, especially in midlife, are understandably tired. Conversations can slide into a catalogue of complaints about health, relationships, or the state of the world. While those things matter, constant moaning rarely draws people closer. What creates connection is having something to bring. Not a performance, but curiosity and engagement. When I told people I was doing improv, they often wanted to know more. I’d explain the principle of “yes, and” rather than “yes, but”. Those conversations opened doors. I also realised the importance of having opinions, and feeling able to express them. Friendships don’t require total agreement, but they do require a sense of safety. If you’re constantly editing yourself to keep the peace, relationships become exhausting. For me, honesty mattered more than fitting in. Another lesson was not to expect one person to meet all my social needs. Different friendships serve different purposes: someone to do things with, someone who brings humour, someone who nudges you outside your comfort zone, and perhaps one person you can really open up to. (Photo: BRO Vector/Getty)

Friendship portfolios

One recently widowed client struggled with this. He’d had one best friend for everything: his wife. Learning to build a “friendship portfolio” felt strange at first, almost disloyal. But it actually made each friendship richer, with less pressure on any single person to be everything. I remember a moment with a friend, Sarah, during a confusing period of dating. I hesitated to phone her, worried about being a burden. She said, simply, “that’s what friends are for”. It landed deeply. From then on, we talked things through together. It didn’t solve everything, but it helped me feel less alone. At the same time, I learned to be mindful of not overloading any one person. Even generous friends have limits. Part of maturing is knowing what belongs in friendship and what needs a different container. For me, that meant at times therapy, particularly after my marriage ended, which took pressure off my friendships and allowed them to remain places of mutual support. (Photo: Yui Mok/PA)

Introverted without apologising

Finally, there was energy. I’m introverted, and I had to learn to manage that without apologising. Sometimes I’ll go out, enjoy myself, and then leave as the group move on. If I push past that point, socialising starts to feel like work, and I pay for it the next day. Making friends in midlife isn’t quick or effortless. It requires patience, repetition, and a willingness to tolerate uncertainty. Some connections deepen, others quietly fade, and that isn’t a failure. It’s simply how adult friendships unfold when lives are fuller, boundaries clearer, and time more consciously used. (Photo: Ilona Gierach Photography)