Moving to a new town alone can feel like stepping into the wilderness. You have to reorganize everything you own and move it to an unfamiliar place. Then comes the challenge of turning a pile of boxes into a home. Even the weather might be different—maybe there’s snow or soul-crushing humidity.
Then you have to figure out how to feed yourself. It starts with finding the grocery store, and once you’re there, navigating it—where are the pickles, anyway? And what about clothes? Where can you buy them? Do they even carry the brand of socks you like? If your car breaks down, where do you go that won’t rip you off? What happens if you get a toothache? Where’s the dentist?
Even the most basic daily tasks become complicated.
And then, there’s the big one: finding a way to make money.
A new job comes with its own host of challenges—learning the geography of the area, adjusting to the workplace culture, understanding the policies, and getting to know your new coworkers—strange new creatures in their own right.
But the hardest part of moving alone is right there in the word itself: alone. You don’t realize how much you need people until you don’t have people. Those first few months—or even the first year—can be tough. You’re starting every relationship from scratch.
It’s like waking up in the middle of the woods.
When I first moved to Farmville, I didn’t know a soul—except the campus pastor I’d spoken with on the phone a few times and the panel of PCC staff I had interviewed with. And really, how much did I know them? We had only spent a couple of hours together. In many ways, they were still strangers.
Upon arriving, I moved in with a young woman my age—we’ll call her Ruth. We had never met in person, just exchanged a couple of video messages through the video based messaging app Marco Polo. I was lonely and brokenhearted from my previous move, and she was bubbly, full of energy, with a packed social calendar and lots of friends. I was just trying to get through each day and was simply grateful for a safe, free place to stay.
But over the years, a friendship blossomed. Day by day, conversation by slightly-less-awkward conversation, we built something that I believe will last. From a late-night emergency room visit to a beach vacation gone hilariously wrong, to evenings with PCC students and many, many slices of pizza—a relationship formed. We even started a small group. Now we do life together.
Our group chat includes everything from babies being born and teenagers going to prom, to puppies being adopted. Even snow days and outfit ideas make the cut.
Relational wilderness is a real thing. And even if you’re kind and open and want friends, they don’t just show up at your door like the mailman. Making friends requires intentionality and hard work. It means scheduling time together, learning their personalities, noticing the subtle clues when something’s wrong. It even means figuring out who’s a good fit and who might not be.
I’m reminded of these verses:
“Though one may be overpowered, two can defend themselves. A cord of three strands is not quickly broken.” — Ecclesiastes 4:12
“Carry each other’s burdens, and in this way you will fulfill the law of Christ.” — Galatians 6:2
I’ve moved and started over alone a few times, and here are a few things I’ve learned:
1. Some friends are just for a season—and that’s okay.
I haven’t kept up with every friend I’ve ever made, and not all of them are worth keeping up with. Some people have ulterior motives. Some friendships are harder to let go of than others, but we only have so much time and energy to invest.
2. Good friends only come from hard work and consistency.
Even though moving in with Ruth kind of fell into my lap, we both worked to grow and maintain that friendship. It took time and repeated efforts—hanging out even when it was awkward, showing up even when we weren’t sure how things would go.
3. Building lasting friendships is worth the risk and investment.
“Wishing to be friends is quick work, but friendship is a slow-ripening fruit.”
— Aristotle
Ruth became one of my best friends—my ride or die. We even became neighbors. Now, she’s in the process of moving away, and these past few weeks have been some of the hardest. Not the same kind of hard as being alone, but the ache of knowing life won’t be the same without her close by.
One of our last conversations, Ruth said, “I’m not too worried about seeing you moving forward because we’ve built a friendship that will last forever.”
We put in the hard work. And it was worth it.
