The older I get, the smaller my circle becomes.

And for years, I thought that was maturity.

Less drama. Less obligation. Less emotional clutter. You stop needing everyone to like you. You stop chasing popularity. You become more selective with your energy, your time and your people.

My best friend and I were laughing recently about how difficult it feels to make new friends as an adult.

We joke about it all the time.

You meet someone new and immediately start mentally assessing:

Do we have enough in common?

Will this become admin?

Do I have capacity for another relationship?

Will they understand my humour, my life, my exhaustion, my chaos?

At some point in adulthood, friendship stops feeling organic and starts feeling like emotional risk management.

And while there is wisdom in protecting your peace, I wonder if some of us have crossed into something else entirely.

Isolation disguised as discernment.

Because here’s the uncomfortable truth:

Humans were never designed to do life alone.

In fact, one of the longest-running studies on human happiness — the Harvard Study of Adult Development, which tracked people over more than 80 years — found that the single biggest predictor of happiness, wellbeing and even longevity was not money, achievement or career success.

It was close relationships.

Not productivity.

Not status.

Not optimisation.

Connection.

Strong social relationships were shown to reduce stress, improve physical health, lower rates of anxiety and depression and even protect cognitive function as we age.

Yet modern life quietly pushes us in the opposite direction.

We live hyper-individual lives now.

We work remotely.

We scroll instead of gathering.

We text instead of calling.

We consume content about people instead of sitting with actual people.

And if we’re honest, many of us have become deeply attached to comfort.

We seek people who validate us.

Think like us.

Parent like us.

Vote like us.

Speak like us.

Struggle like us.

Algorithms have trained us to believe sameness equals safety.

But growth has never lived inside sameness.

Some of the most meaningful conversations I’ve had in the last few years came from people I would never naturally choose in a room. Different ages. Different cultures. Different life experiences. Different political views. Different stories.

Connection becomes transformational precisely because it stretches us beyond ourselves.

But stretching requires effort.

And effort is where most adults quietly opt out.

Because building connection as an adult is awkward.

You have to initiate.

You have to risk rejection.

You have to survive small talk long enough to reach substance.

You have to tolerate unfamiliarity before trust exists.

Most people never get past that stage.

So instead, we retreat deeper into our established circles and convince ourselves we’re “just introverts now”.

But are we?

Or are we tired?

Overstimulated?

Protective?

Burnt out?

Scared of vulnerability?

Scared we won’t belong?

There’s a difference.

I’m not suggesting we suddenly become social butterflies collecting acquaintances like Pokémon cards.

Depth still matters more than volume.

But I do think many of us underestimate how much our world shrinks when we stop remaining open to new human connection.

New people expose us to new ideas.

New perspectives.

New energy.

New opportunities.

New parts of ourselves.

Sometimes the next level of your life is hidden inside a conversation you almost didn’t have.

And perhaps this matters even more in the AI era.

As technology accelerates and more of life becomes digitised, automated and transactional, human connection becomes one of the few things that cannot be replicated by efficiency.

No app can replace the feeling of being deeply understood.

No algorithm can fully replicate belonging.

No productivity system can substitute community.

We are watching a world become more connected digitally while many people feel more emotionally disconnected than ever before.

That should concern us.

Maybe adulthood isn’t about becoming smaller and smaller until only three people can access you.

Maybe wisdom is learning who deserves deep access while still remaining open to humanity itself.

Maybe making new friends isn’t immature or unnecessary.

Maybe it’s part of staying alive.

So perhaps the real question isn’t:

“Is it normal that my circle got smaller?”

The real question is:

“Have I become too closed to connection?”

Because the quality of our relationships will always shape the quality of our lives.

And no amount of success compensates for emotional loneliness.