There is a popular Yoruba adage that says, “20 friends can’t play together for 20 years.” I always thought this wise saying was just about distance. When we go in search of greener pastures, there’s a high chance of losing touch. But as I’ve grown older, I’ve realized it’s not just about distance; it’s much bigger than that.
Growing up, I didn’t have many friends because I considered family my best friends. The people I called friends outside the family were a few kids from church, school, or the football field. Our connections weren’t deep, and I was okay with that because my family provided a strong sense of fulfillment and emotional connection. I had fewer obligations and commitments, which gave me freedom and fewer distractions. But as I grew older, I felt the need to let more people into my life.
As the number of friends increased, catching up with everyone became a struggle—something I wasn’t used to. It felt like trading my peace of mind, freedom, and focus for a small piece of cake: the joy of hanging out ended the moment I was alone, it didn’t even feel like these friends were truly part of my life. Trying to avoid falling out with them, I made huge sacrifices at the expense of my well-being, and the impact on me was negative.
Before I learned about minimalism, I decided to let a few friends go, and it helped tremendously. I had more time for myself, less pressure to keep up, and no need for those draining sacrifices. I wished I’d kept my circle small from the start.
When I discovered the minimalist lifestyle, I realized I hadn’t trimmed my circle enough. I was holding onto friends I thought were important, but our friendships were built on the wrong foundation—parties, which weren’t my thing. Many of these events weren’t even in our neighborhood; sometimes, we traveled to another state, which made me sick. I bought clothes and accessories I didn’t need just to fit in, but I eventually realized it was all for nothing and took a step back.
Minimalism taught me that ignoring my values, well-being, and freedom to please others isn’t the right way to live. I embraced myself more, started giving my opinions, and offered suggestions that aligned with my lifestyle instead of just agreeing with the group. When my ideas no longer blended with theirs, the fallout began, and my circle reduced quickly. Even my best friend couldn’t understand my perspective when I politely explained why I can't attend his younger sister’s wedding in another state. I explained that I’d have attended if it was his wedding, but he chose to ignore me, and that was okay.
I started saying “no” to things I didn’t want, unlike before when I’d say “yes” regardless of how I felt. I set boundaries and began reflecting on my relationships to ensure they added value, not stole from me. This helped me identify who was truly worth calling a friend. Surprisingly, some people I didn’t consider friends back then are the ones I still communicate with because we share the same understanding of life. They showed me that friendship isn’t about quantity but quality, and the few friends I have now have a greater impact than the multitude I once had.
Keeping my minimalist lifestyle has made me less attractive to some—people think I’m boring for choosing an indoor celebration over a noisy outing. Some call me stingy or think I’m punishing myself by choosing simplicity, but the truth is, I’m doing what makes me happy. These days, I don’t make friends as easily as before. I don’t open up until I know someone’s lifestyle, values, and priorities align with mine, and even then, I tread cautiously.
In conclusion, I believe a lof of people now misunderstands the meaning of friendship, attaching societal expectations to it. Friendship or any relationship should bring peace, happiness, and freedom. The sacrifices you make shouldn't be at the expense of your well-being. It shouldn’t be about trends, competition, or selfish motives.
