Making Friends as an Adult, part 2

The Friend Filter

“I actually mapped this out in a prior season of life,” Swiff said, pulling up an Instagram post on his phone. “30% of people I meet are friend crushes, and the other 70% are acquaintances.”

“30%?” I asked, surprised. “That seems really high.”

“Yeah, maybe,” he admitted. “It’s probably a lower number now, but this was in a prior season of life, when I lived in Germany.”

This was my first real conversation with Swiff. We were in Golden Gate Park at our mutual friend Andy’s farewell party, and I was telling him about the recent Caribbean sailing trip I’d taken—and how it had sparked the idea for a blog post on friendship.

What struck me most about Swiff’s friendship Instagram graphic wasn’t the actual percentage breakdown; it was that he had one at all. He’d thought about the friendship process. Broke it down into percentages and categories. Graphed it all out.

That level of awareness and intentionality stood out—mainly because it was such a contrast to how most people (myself included) operate. Most of us do this kind of mental sorting when we meet someone new, but few of us ever pause to examine how we’re doing it. We all have some kind of filter, but in my experience it’s not something we talk about.

In Part 1, I wrote about how friendship can start in the most unexpected ways—like showing up on a boat full of strangers and realizing, days later, that you’ve made a real connection. It was a reminder that even as adults, we’re capable of forming new friendships—sometimes all it takes is shared time, an open mindset, and a willingness to be real.

That experience made me start paying attention—not just to how we meet people, but to what happens after. What makes someone go from stranger, to acquaintance, to friend?

I’ve realized that while we don’t always say it out loud, most of us have some kind of internal criteria. It’s a filter we run people through—some instinctive combination of chemistry, timing, conversation, and shared experience. We meet someone at volleyball, church, work, or through mutual friends, and something about the interaction makes us think: I’d like to know this person better.

A while back, my roommate Cory asked me a question that stuck with me.

“Do you pick your friends,” he asked, “or are you picked to be a friend?”

I paused for a second. “I think I pick my friends,” I said.

“Yeah, I’m usually picked to be a friend,” he replied.

Recently, I brought the same question to Ben. “Isn’t it both?” he asked. “It’s a mutual decision.” But when pressed, he eventually said, “I pick my friends.”

What I love about this question is that it surfaces something we don’t always notice: sometimes we initiate friendships, sometimes we respond to them, and sometimes it’s hard to tell the difference. It’s not always even, but either way, there’s a choice. We’re filtering in both directions—deciding who we want to make room for and noticing who’s making room for us.

When I think about my own filtering process, it usually starts with something simple: a good conversation or a shared activity. Especially for guys, friendship often begins with being activity partners. You show up at the same volleyball game enough times, and eventually you start to share about your life, and maybe grab a meal together. You realize you both like the same things, or have similar questions about life, or are both wrestling with the same ideas. It’s less about “What do you do?” and more about “Can I see myself around this person again?”

That’s how I became friends with Paul.

The first time I met him, he had emerged shirtless from the guest bathroom downstairs.

Not exactly my preferred method for meeting a stranger in my house, but in his defense, he had just finished a bike ride with my roommate and was getting changed out of sweaty clothes.

“Sorry,” he said, slightly embarrassed.

“No worries,” I replied.

We crossed paths again soon after at a friend’s hangout and ended up having a great conversation about the current political climate. It wasn’t surface-level—it was real and energizing. He moved to LA a little while later, but I reached out when I was on one of my volleyball trips last year, and we played a few games together. Later on when he visited the Bay Area, I shared some Japan travel tips (he was about to go; I had just returned). After he got back, I texted to ask how his trip went, and that led to a longer conversation about career paths and calling.

None of these moments were particularly dramatic. But they were consistent. Thoughtful. Mutual. It wasn’t just a one-time vibe—it was a rhythm that kept building.

While there’s definitely a part of me that’s drawn to people who are similar to me in some way, I’ve always been fascinated by people who are different than me. In fact, I really enjoy befriending people who challenge me, think differently, or come from a different background. But I am most drawn to people who are present—curious, engaged, and genuinely interested in getting to know others. That’s the kind of connection that feels worth following up on.

And the older I get, the more I’ve learned to notice those moments—and not let them slip away.

So maybe we don’t need an Instagram graphic like Swiff’s to know who we want to be friends with. But we do need to be paying attention. Not everyone we meet will become a friend, and that’s okay. But when someone passes through the filter—when there’s chemistry, curiosity, and consistency—I think it’s worth seeing where that path could lead.

Of course, noticing a spark is just the beginning. Friendship, like anything meaningful, takes time, attention, and maybe a little bit of luck.

But once someone makes it through the filter—once you’ve laughed together, listened well, and kept showing up—it’s worth seeing where that connection might lead.

There’s more to say, and more I’m still figuring out…so consider this an ongoing conversation.

What does your filtering process look like?